


For Now, We May Remain Silent

by ForASecondThereWedWon



Series: Spideychelle: Adulthood, More or Less [6]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pride and Prejudice Fusion, Artist Michelle Jones, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Harley Keener is Tony Stark's Biological Child, MJ is Mr. Darcy, Married Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Misunderstandings, Nebula is a menace in the kitchen, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, Peter Parker is Tony Stark's Biological Child, Peter is Elizabeth Bennet, Physical Disability, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Stark Industries, Tony and Pepper love their kids, basically:, chef Wanda Maximoff, matchmaking through the medium of Just Dance, pride and prejudice au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:28:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 179,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21623773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForASecondThereWedWon/pseuds/ForASecondThereWedWon
Summary: Isolated, but secure―that's life for the Stark family at the Upstate compound, five years after the second Snap. However, when a nearby property is suddenly sold, they gain an intriguing neighbour and the realization that security isn't the same as happiness.Not everything worth fighting for comes at the price of war. Not every new acquaintance makes a good first impression.APride and PrejudiceAU.
Relationships: Happy Hogan/May Parker (Spider-Man), Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Wanda Maximoff/Vision, mention of Carol Danvers/Maria Rambeau
Series: Spideychelle: Adulthood, More or Less [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1808836
Comments: 988
Kudos: 303





	1. CHARACTERS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "God forbid you pick up anything by Jane Austen." - Paris Geller, _Gilmore Girls_

**The Starks**

Tony, _overcaffeinated_

Pepper, _his wife, keeps the family from imploding_

Vision, _their eldest son, level-headed and reserved_

Nebula, _their elder daughter, given to moodiness_

Harley, _their second son, too like his father_

Peter, _their youngest son, intelligent but impulsive_

Morgan, _their younger daughter, highly impressionable_

Happy Hogan, _Pepper’s brother_

May, _his wife_

**The Maximoffs**

Wanda, _the Starks’ new neighbour_

Brad, _her brother_

**The Joneses**

Michelle, _Wanda’s best friend and business partner_

Director Nick Fury, _her uncle_

Flash Thompson, _the Thompson heir_

Ned Leeds, _Peter’s best friend_

Liz Allan, _not who she seems_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are. If you've read my work before, welcome back! If not, just welcome! If you've been holding out for another multi-chapter fic since _Affinity War_ or _Alright on Paper_ , _warmest_ welcome. From where I'm sitting, it feels like I'm bringing you home for the holidays.
> 
> I'll be sticking pretty close to the novel on this one (if you've only watched a film or TV adaptation, you'll be fine), though there will be some changes to better suit the Marvel universe as the plot develops. Please note that one major deviation from _P &P_ is that this story is NOT historical. Every one of the characters listed above corresponds to an existing character in _Pride and Prejudice_. Guess who's who in the comments if you like!
> 
> As I began to write this (I'm a couple chapters in, if you're curious), I realized what a massive undertaking it would be if I wanted to do it right. I've brushed up against the idea of an AU in the past, flinging Spideychelle into the worlds of _Harry Potter_ and _Fight Club_ , but never submerged myself completely into one. My estimate of the number of chapters keeps growing. Expect 20-30. Because I am, very much, doing this right.
> 
> There will be pining and confusion and healing and angst and dealing with the way the world is after the Snap. And with how these characters are struggling forward into their colliding and diverging futures. I look forward to embarking with you all. First chapter this Saturday, December 7th.


	2. New Neighbours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "'My dear Mr Bennet,' said his lady to him one day, 'have you heard that Netherfield Park is let at last?'" - _Pride and Prejudice_ , ch. 1

_Upstate New York, 2028_

Fact: in the business world, it’s adapt or die.

Actually, maybe that’s true about everything. The world isn’t a stagnant place and humans, perhaps, understand most of all the necessity and growing pains of evolution. In the years since the Battle of Earth, Tony’s been reminding himself that he’s more than an ex-hero, just to get out of bed in the morning. The days of introducing himself with four nouns―none of which were his name or job title―weren’t so very long ago, though a gentle stretch makes his neck crack while he contemplates it. Reinvention. That’s what he’s about these days.

What’s on his mind this morning is the same topic that’s been itching his brain since 4am; seems like he’s going to be an insomniac for life because, even in peacetime, he stares at a screen and plots his next potential venture until his eyes water and burn. It’s not the PTSD, promise. One of his favourite haunts of the wee hours is the real estate and development site that posts everything bought and sold, for how much, and occasionally (because the locals [Tony] are curious and willing to pay for the right to be nosy) by _whom_ in their neighbourhood. Well, neighbourhood’s a strong word, but their rebuilt Upstate compound isn’t as isolated as it was before Thanos nearly killed everybody (twice) and people started believing the phrase ‘life’s too short’ instead of just buying it on those vinyl decays to stick to the wall above their headboard. Life’s too short to sit in traffic, to breathe the New York City smog, yadda yadda, and all of a sudden, the compound’s practically suburbia.

Tony stays up to date with the real estate transactions to satisfy his inner busybody and keep abreast of pricing trends, thinking that, one of these days, he’ll buy more land. It’s an ideal hobby that hasn’t crossed over into obsession, but that might change today because three hours ago, something caught his interest. A couple of young entrepreneurs―one of them a former hero type like him―moving into the neighbourhood. The gears are turning. He just had to wait for Pepper to get up so he could start needling her about it.

“Pep!”

He’s so full of anxious energy when his wife finally walks into the kitchen at precisely 7am that he almost tips up into a wheelie, but she hates it when he does that. Broken back. In a wheelchair since Thanos snapped his spine right before Tony could Snap him. Boohoo. All Earth-saving and no play makes Tony a dull boy. He’ll switch to the latest model of his exoskeleton later, but the chair is easier first thing. Rolling briskly forward and back, he lets Pepper come to him, eyeing him suspiciously the whole time.

“Well, you’re looking gorgeous this morning,” he tells her as she swoops in to give him a kiss. When she lingers, he takes a bite out of the croissant in her hand. “Also,” Tony says through his mouthful, “did you hear about that oversized farmhouse up the road, oh... three miles as the crow flies, being sold? They’re calling it ‘the Park’ now, I guess to fancy it up for buyers.”

He waits while Pepper slides into her usual chair at the table and puts a glass of orange juice in front of him to help him swallow his morning pain pills. When she’s settled, leisurely picking apart her croissant, she tells him simply that she hasn’t heard (and asks pointedly exactly when _he_ had―a question he ignores because his lack of sleep is an ongoing conversation).

“It is. They updated the recent land sales on the website last night. Pictures and everything.”

That’s the moment for her to bite and Tony’s nearly vibrating when she doesn’t, just continues to tear and chew.

“Aren’t you the _teensiest_ bit interested to know who bought it?” Impatiently, he throws his pills to the back of his throat and takes too big a sip of orange juice.

Finally, Pepper sighs.

“I’m not sure you’re actually capable of not telling me, so spit it out, Tony.”

“Oh, I’m about to,” he garbles, swallowing the juice with a wince. “This stuff is bitter. Is Nebula trying her hand at homemade beverages again? If she really wants that as a skill, let’s steer her towards Scotch.”

“Tony.”

“Since you’re forcing it out of me... Apparently, our new neighbour is a Sokovian restaurateur planning to turn part of ‘the Park’ into a restaurant.”

His wife looks thoughtful.

“Sokovia... Sokovia... Isn’t that the place where you fought Ultron and the destruction was so severe that multiple world governments agreed that superheroes needed to be put on a leash? That Sokovia? Oh yeah, I can’t imagine why that would interest you.”

Tony grins at Pepper’s sarcasm and reaches out to grasp her hand.

“She’s genetically enhanced, Pep.”

“And this is, what? The superhuman capital of the world all of a sudden? _Tony_.” She gives him a concerned look and he feels his own face growing more serious. “I know what you’re thinking and I don’t know if it would be good for you. You said you wanted to distance yourself from that life. That’s why no more New York, no more mission strategies with Clint.”

“But this!” He slaps lightly at the table with his free hand. “Super-people having lives and identities outside of their powers! Frankly, I can’t see how that _wouldn’t_ be good for me. Or the kids.”

Tony has her on that one, he can tell. Pepper always caves when he plays the It’s in the Best Interests of Our Children card. She shoots him a hard stare, then relaxes.

“What’s her name?”

“Wanda Maximoff.”

“And this is her restaurant? She owns it?”

“Owns it, funds it, cooks in it. Self-taught chef, from the website’s half-assed attempt at a bio. Young too. This is exactly what the kids need.”

“...A chef?”

“Company! To get out of the compound, get a little culture.” He squeezes his wife’s hand tenderly. “They’ve been through so much. You know they could use the distraction as much as I could.”

“Well... we don’t know what she’ll be like or if she’ll want the kids hanging around. Some prodigies are totally neurotic.” Pepper gives him a sly smirk.

“But most, as we know, are total charmers. I think we should assume that everyone will get along.”

“Ah, optimistic this morning, are we?”

“It’s just that I know you’re going to lay such a smooth foundation for our acquaintance with her when you head over to the Park to meet her,” Tony hints. “Today, preferably.”

“Today?” She slumps slightly. “Tony, I have meetings scheduled. A conference call. A ribbon cutting at two... Why don’t you tell the kids to go on their own? I know Vision still doesn’t like to drive, but Peter can. Or you can take them.” Pepper smiles encouragingly. “I think you might be right about you and our new neighbour having a lot in common. If she has any taste at all, she’ll find all of your ideas fascinating and let you talk her ear off.”

“I’m flattered―” And he is, to have his ego stroked so early in the day. “―but I’ve learned over the years that to truly appreciate me, some people need to hear you talk me up first. It helps build the anticipation of meeting the great Tony Stark.”

“Oh, is that what it is?”

“Mhmm.”

Pepper cups his cheek before pushing back out of her chair, her hand slipping from under his palm.

“Not today, Tony. I’m too busy!”

He wheels after her, determined.

“The kids, Pepper! The kids!”

When she glances back at him, he pouts. His wife rolls her eyes.

“Get me her email and I’ll send her preapproval to become best friends with whichever one of our kids she likes the most.” She frowns in consideration. “Probably Peter.”

“Yeah, ok, maybe Peter, but Harley might be a strong candidate. He’s great at making people like him.”

“He’s his father’s son.” Which is sort of an agreement said in the wrong tone. Tony lets it pass as Pepper goes on, walking out into the hall. “Peter really needs a change. He’s stuck here.”

“And Harley isn’t?” he demands, following her. “You’re just trying to pick a fight. I haven’t had my coffee yet.”

“I think you’re hyper enough without most days. Especially today. You need to relax about this.”

“You’re killin’ me, Pep.” Tony tries to give her pathetic eyes as she pauses by the elevator.

“Why don’t you practice your manners so you can meet the next superhuman who moves into the neighbourhood?” With a tap, the elevator opens immediately.

“It wouldn’t matter if all the Asgardians decamped from Norway _tomorrow_ if you’re not willing to start us off on the right foot. Nobody does ancient customs like space Vikings.”

“Let me know if any show up.”

With a smile, Pepper steps into the elevator to zip back to her enormous closet, change into something that will intimidate her 8:15 meeting, and get on with her packed day. She understands her larger-than-life husband like nobody else does, but that didn’t mean she understands him completely. Fixations are a constant with Tony Stark, only she never knows exactly _what_ he’s going to fix on until she finds him awake for 50 hours straight or about to burn his workshop down.

When she was his assistant, she learned in _hours_ how much he needed her. When they got involved and his life became more dangerous, well, it mostly seemed like _she_ needed _him_ ―the whole world needed him―a lot more. The scales have leveled off over time and she felt a deep sense of balance when they got married. It took time to recognize that the balance was all internal, all her, and that Tony might always be a little off-kilter (not helped by his caffeine addiction). Which is why they come as a pair. If he wants to make finding their kids a new friend and bouncing ideas off a fellow entrepreneur his new hobby, she’ll weather it like everything else.

* * *

Sometimes, she has to withhold instant gratification, just to see if, one of these times, it’ll teach her husband a little patience. The truth is that, with her position on local council on top of her obligations at Stark Industries, Pepper sat next to their county’s dynamo of an estate agent in an improvement meeting the previous week, right after the sale of the Park went through, and was told about it then.

Always two steps ahead, she ever-so-subtly indicated that the agent could call the new owner to let Ms. Maximoff know that Pepper would love to meet her. The girl was flustered but smiling to sit down with her in a room full of half-unpacked boxes, but Pepper assured her she’d seen much worse living with Tony Stark. They got along easily and she was certain it would be the same when the rest of her family finally met Wanda.

She only hangs onto her secret long enough to irritate Tony, deciding to break the news to everyone over dinner in the hopes that her husband might actually get some sleep tonight after this resolution.

“You know,” Pepper tells Peter as he passes her a bottle of salad dressing across the table, “I bet you’d have a lot in common with Wanda Maximoff. Cooking and chemistry aren’t dissimilar. You guys could discuss your experiments.”

Tony snorts, making their son’s wide eyes slide to his father.

“And when are they supposed to do that? They haven’t even gotten to meet each other.”

“We’ll probably see her at some event though, right?” Peter checks. “She’ll get invited to stuff because she’s new here.”

“Maybe,” Peppers says noncommittally.

“Harley,” her husband yelps. “Torches at the dinner table? I don’t think so, bud. Projects that require an open flame stay in the workshop.”

With an expression of betrayal, Harley lowers the torch and the two pieces of metal he was trying to solder together under the table. Nebula quickly leans away from him, as if she wasn’t just holding the parts while her brother worked the torch.

“Hey,” Pepper inquires after a minute, waving her fork absently in Peter’s direction, “when’s our next Stark Industries event?”

“Uh, two weeks, I think. The Displaced Reappeared Benefit.”

He’s confused because it’s unlike his mom to forget a single important date―especially this one, raising money for Americans who were Vanished by the first Snap and brought back by the second to find that their homes had been taken over or lapsed into disrepair. It’s almost as uncommon for Peter to know an event date, but he’s been sticking his nose into the family business more since he came back from college directionless. Turns out you can only escape the residual anxiety of being in combat so long. It’s not like his family’s going to kick him out of the compound, but Peter still feels guilty about not doing something useful. Memorizing his mom’s itinerary is something to fill his head with. The details keep his overactive mind from turning on itself.

“That’s right!” Tony shouts. “We’re definitely inviting Wanda to that. Too bad the invitation’s going to come totally out of the blue.” He side-eyes his wife.

“Hmm, yeah, two weeks won’t be enough time to get to know her as well as our other guests,” Pepper agrees. “Maybe the Leeds will have to be the first friends she makes in the neighbourhood. What do you think, Nebula?”

The older of their two daughters glances up nervously. Are they really asking her opinion on making _friends_? It would take her less time to rebuild every appliance in the kitchen (the humans’ tools are incredibly stupid, the inefficiency baffles her―toasters are particularly troubling) than it would to map the shortest route to interpersonal connection. Nebula likes _them_ , the Starks, who absorbed her into the family with an alacrity that still brings choked sobs of happiness some nights, but how she could put out effort to create companionship remains a mystery. She gazes at the beige, yaro root-like vegetable steaming on her plate as if it holds the answer.

“While Nebula’s thinking,” Pepper continues, “let’s talk some more about Wanda Maximoff.”

Tony’s about ready to bang his head on the table in frustration.

“I don’t want to hear another word about Wanda Maximoff. That name is banned in this house.” His eyes narrow on Morgan, giggling to his left. “Don’t even think about it, Morguna.”

“Well, Tony, I’m sorry you feel that way,” Pepper says. “Because I wouldn’t have gone over there to meet her. It’s going to be hard not to invite her now and have it not look like we’re intentionally shunning our new neighbour. Poor kid.”

Morgan continues giggling when her brothers start to laugh, though she doesn’t really know why. Even Vision smiles at the way Pepper so thoroughly tricked her husband. Tony swings his head back and forth in disbelief before realizing that everything worked out exactly the way he wanted to it. That perks him up.

“What am I always saying, you guys?” he demands, looking around the dining room table. “Mom is the best! Don’t I always say mom’s the best?”

“You say _you’re_ the best,” Morgan offers. She bursts into giggles again when her dad playfully narrows his eyes at her.

“You had me going, Pep,” he admits, raising his eyebrows at his wife. He sighs in satisfaction.

Pepper glances at Harley.

“Ok, kid, now you can solder as much as you want.”

She rises from the table, gesturing for Vision to help her start clearing plates.

“Don’t fall for that one,” Tony warns Harley. “Mom’s trying to trick us again.” He lowers his voice and adds, “But maybe start trying to make some pots and pans or something. You know, ingratiate yourself with the chef.”

Harley rolls his eyes.

“I don’t need practice to be able to do that. I can make anybody like me.”

“That’s what I told Mom!” he assures his son.

* * *

Though Pepper paved the way for her family to get to know the new neighbour, none of the rest of them make it over to the Park to meet Wanda in the two weeks before the benefit. Tony falls headlong into his next mania; Vision, though effectively their son because he owes his existence and knowledgebase to Tony, babysits him and bolsters the brainpower in his workshop during caffeine crashes. Peter spends far too many hours lost in video games at Ned’s house while his best friend darts worried looks at him. Nebula tinkers side by side with Harley until her adoptive brother’s incessant questions (and Morgan’s echoes of him) get on her nerves, causing her to retreat to her assigned bedroom.

Tony does the occasional bit of frantic research in his downtime, but there isn’t a ton of information to be had on Miss Wanda Maximoff. Unlike the glittering up-and-comers opening restaurants in Manhattan, Wanda hasn’t left a digital trail of glowing magazine reviews and effusive testimonials by patrons and mentors who want a claim on her future success. In fact, apart from the few and far between internet crumbs that suggest the girl’s got something special, the young chef is flying pretty far under the radar. Tony admires that. He doesn’t _understand_ it, but he admires it. Maybe her work speaks for itself.

He wonders though―of course he does―if there couldn’t be something mutually beneficial here. He hasn’t historically been great at friendship for friendship’s sake and networking is his first impulse. Would a donation on the night of the benefit help Wanda get her business up and running, or would that be too showy? A partnership might be better, or! If Tony acquires her restaurant, providing financial support as a silent owner and allowing her to run the place and make all creative decisions herself. There’s an idea. Would that look desperate? Could he play off the early support as a vote of confidence (because he’s never had her food, but expects an enhanced individual to have certain distinct advantages)?

Although... Vision’s cooking is pretty uninspiring and Tony’s just stress-grinding his teeth as he awaits the day that Nebula presents them with some horrible space-gastronomy fusion. Of his three biological children, the only one with superhuman DNA will happily eat freezer pizza. It’s possible there isn’t much of an overlap between perks like super-senses or a super-computer brain and the ability to assemble a meal. Please, he hopes, let Wanda be different. For the sake of his theoretical future investment.

The mutual part of an arrangement with her would be the aspect Tony’s not quite ready to talk to his kids about. Pepper does the crucial work of heading up Stark Industries, and he knows that, aside from her constant troubleshooting (completed with the patience of a saint), his wife’s days are becoming routine. Maybe routine is good, routine is safe, routine lowered their stress when Morgan was born in the calm before the storm. Routine isn’t the same as _secure_. The company needs to diversify. Shifting from weaponry to green energy technologies was vital, but it’s better to be vigilant than sorry. Or something.

He can never quite shake the fear that, if they lose him, SI is all they’ll have. And maybe he isn’t on his death bed, but he came close a few years back when Thanos’s giant Barney hands closed around him. Tony doesn’t just want to ensure the world’s future. He wants to ensure his family’s.

* * *

His wife does most of the planning for the benefit, apart from what she delegates to caterers and bartenders and table and chair suppliers and a string quintet (apparently quartets just don’t impress people like they used to, tough break), plus the few items she tips onto her husband’s plate. It’s a little game they play; she knows he’ll only participate insofar as to make the first suggestion that comes into his head and _he_ knows she’ll write it on her tablet in swirling loops only to banish it into the Stark tech equivalent of a ‘delete forever’ void the second his back is turned. What can he say? As a couple, they just _work_.

Pepper hand-addresses the invitation that goes to the Park―something she doesn’t bother with for the hundreds of others; politicians and businessmen and –women don’t notice things like that (and most of their guest list includes people who never touch their own mail), but it seems like the friendly thing to do between neighbours. She suggests, as again she doesn’t normally, that Wanda feel free to bring guests along. The scale of a Stark Industries benefit can more than accommodate another half-dozen guests if it sets their neighbour at ease in a sea of new acquaintances. Especially with the inevitable thousand questions about Wanda’s restaurant. There’s nothing businessmen in particular love more than to dig into the details of other people’s businesses.

Tony feels blindsided hearing about the extra guests after the invitations go out, and of course his nervous energy spreads to the kids. How are they supposed to make friends with someone who brings a full complement of friends _with_ her? (“Like chess pieces,” Vision says. “Like weapons,” Nebula corrects darkly, staring back with her unyielding black eyes when the others look at her with disturbed expressions.) Peter’s annoyed for the sake of his siblings more than for himself; Ned’s always invited, so he’s covered for friends if Wanda’s busy.

But when their neighbours arrive at the benefit―not early, like the public figures who are just trying to make an appearance and get out of there, thereby fulfilling an obligation rather than enjoying themselves―they’re a party of only three: Wanda, her brother, and another woman slightly younger than Wanda.

The neighbour the Starks have discussed so much is smiling when she walks in, and continues to radiate friendliness over the course of the evening; with her long, loosely-curled red hair, she reminds Tony vaguely of Pepper, so he’s even more inclined to like her from the start. Her brother, Brad, is less open, but impressive enough to the other guests as the Maximoffs mingle, thanks to his good looks, slick haircut, and clothes that are avant-garde without much effort, trendy in a room full of people more formally dressed. He looks like he brought Manhattan with him in the move.

It’s the third member of their group who grabs attention without effort. With both women in heels, she’s the tallest of the three, unforgettable as she glances around to unhurriedly take in her surroundings. “Michelle Jones,” the whisper goes from person to person, and Peter pulls his phone from the inner pocket of his suit jacket to google her. Most of the new people he meets come with their own Wikipedia page, so it’s always his first instinct. Now Tony recalls that the property sale write-up had mentioned two young talents jointly buying the Park, but with zero details provided on the other person, he’d focused in on Wanda Maximoff. A quick search turns up Michelle’s Instagram, her rows of sharp pen-and-ink cartoons identifying her as a visual artist who, having graduated at the head of her fine arts program, has been pegged for a bright future.

Though the two disciplines―cooking and drawing―can’t really be compared, the old guard of the SI guests attempt to identify which of these young people is the bigger star. (When hisses about a talent for Brad don’t go flying around, he’s largely dismissed.) The crowd’s definitely deciding in Michelle’s favour... until repeated attempts to draw her into conversation are met with hard stares. The responses she _does_ give are laced with sarcasm drier than the circulating trays of very old, very expensive wine. So she’s a snob. Too good for the rest of them, in a room of million- and billionaires. Not only does Wanda come out on top in the collective judgement, she seems like an even better person for tolerating Michelle Jones.

Wanda’s gracious, polite, and complimentary about every element of the evening. Including the food. Pepper had a minor freak-out about that before the event, wondering if it’s a faux pas not to showcase Wanda’s cooking, but she already booked the caterer they always use and a last minute request for Wanda to cater would look sloppy and add needless stress to someone they’re supposed to be welcoming. Their neighbour’s so sweet that she tells Pepper she’ll be coming to her for planning advice for organizing her own open house.

When Tony corrals the noisier guests (shockingly not mutually exclusive from the guests who _always_ drink too much) off to the raised tables and chairs near the bar, the main part of the room becomes less deafening. The quintet can actually be heard. Vision, a neophytic student of culture after an adolescence of the hard sciences, proposes dancing without a shred of social embarrassment; like Harley, Vision displays his father’s traits, including shamelessness, though they’re less of an exhibition in the son.

Vision plays host and well-mannered eldest son, making his rounds and dancing more than once with Wanda. The first time’s etiquette, but there’s something startling about the way her giggling laugh fires through Vision when he spins them―simply completing the correct steps of a waltz, as he’s done his research―that makes him extend his hand to her as often as he can get away with without neglecting high profile guests.

Michelle and Brad dance once with each other and she especially doesn’t look like she enjoys it that much, as far as Peter can tell. He figures it’s a security mechanism, that they’re sticking together and making themselves unavailable for conversation while the most gregarious one of them isn’t there to be their icebreaker. It does kinda make sense to him, but it still comes off as rude when they were invited so that the family, if no one else, could get to know them.

If he’s vaguely irritated, his dad’s pretty freaking annoyed on his behalf. Peter found out for a fact that Michelle isn’t interested in dancing with anyone else because _he_ asked her to dance. And since he missed whatever poker-face gene Vision, Nebula, and Harley got (even if they don’t actually share genetics, or aren’t actually human in the, you know, traditional sense), Tony noticed something was up right away and made him spill.

What happened was that Peter was hanging out in the corner with Ned, taking a break from his Stark-ly duties, and Michelle and Wanda drifted over―the former reluctantly trailing the latter as Wanda examined one of the enormous floral arrangements that had been created for the event. While she looked, she encouraged her friend to try dancing while they were there.

“I know we’ve never done it before, but it’s not hard, MJ,” Wanda said. “Vision can show you the steps. I want to see you try.”

Peter saw Michelle ( _MJ_?) roll her eyes.

“This thing is already ridiculous enough,” she said, waving a dismissive hand around to indicate the benefit as a whole. “Rich people being rich people gives me a migraine. I don’t want to sip their thousand-dollars-a-bottle wine and admire the exotic flowers they must have had flown in and _waltz_. Your brother not wanting to be here either makes him the only bearable dance partner.”

Wanda laughed as Ned and Peter exchanged a baffled look. The rant was kind of inspiring in a way, until he remembered that, hey, this was his family and their unbearable party. But he isn’t confrontational, so the two of them kept watching the women.

“You could try to get to know someone else,” Wanda suggested. “You might be surprised. Everybody I’ve talked to has been very polite and interesting.”

“From what I’ve seen, the only genuinely interesting person in the room is Vision, and you’re kind of monopolizing him,” she joked.

“He’s fascinating. We were talking a little as we danced, and the energy signatures of our powers seem so similar... but he isn’t the only enhanced Stark. Did you know that? Have you had a chance to meet Peter?”

“Peter?” Spying and eavesdropping, Peter stiffened, then nearly bolted when Michelle glanced over and met his eye. Before he could go into full panic mode, she looked away again. “I don’t know,” she said to Wanda, her voice low by regular human standards, but loud and clear for Peter. “He seems pretty dorky.”

“I thought you were into that,” Wanda teased, oblivious to Peter’s presence nearby. “You really don’t think he’s cute?”

Michelle only shrugged.

“I think anyone could clean up nice with daddy’s money. I’m not about to go falling all over Peter Stark just because the guy used to be an Avenger and our invite was his parents taking pity on the local bohemians.”

Wanda sighed and tried to slip her hand through her friend’s arm, but Michelle shook her off.

“You’re too critical.”

“And _you_ need to open your eyes,” Michelle warned. Softer, she added, “You might as well see if you can get another waltz out of Vision. I’ll be better company when we get home.”

The farther away Wanda walked after leaving her friend, the farther away any kind of sympathy or openness for Michelle seemed for Peter.

Ned, who didn’t catch Michelle’s meaner comments, pesters Peter with, “What did she say?” for the rest of the night, but he doesn’t go into details until they’re hanging out at the compound the next day and the verbal injuries are a little less raw.

In fact, by lunchtime, it’s mildly hilarious to Peter. Michelle Jones doesn’t even know him and she already has such a concrete opinion about who he is and his value (or, in this case, lack of). Of course, that’s pretty much how things were when he was Spider-Man, only people’s opinions were usually positive. The longer he thinks about it, the more bizarre it is, so when his family gradually trickles into their oversized living room with plates of leftover canapés, he’s ready to enjoy their versions of what happened last night.

In general, it’s a good review. Tony’s basically manic with happiness at the amount of time Vision managed to spend talking to Wanda Maximoff (after having the night to get over his jealousy at not getting to experience their new supernatural pal firsthand―he really wants some specs on her powers). Vision seems pleased, though it’s painted as calm satisfaction across his rarely troubled expression instead of in gestures like walking in with his arms held wide in the style of Rio’s Christ. Peter, who sees Vision as something of a role model for level-headedness and efficiency, is really glad his brother had such a good night.

Even Nebula’s not as surly as she often is following large gatherings. Anything labelled a ‘family event’ in her personal history usually involved some combination of torture, warfare, and looking proudly (faking it, anyway) over a bleak battlefield of the dead and mortally wounded, so she still tends to avoid Stark Industries events more often than not. She’s satisfied to have attended this one, however, as she overheard a business associate of Tony’s telling Brad Maximoff about the broad array of her skills. Even if her mastery of engine repair on a dozen types of spacecraft was more to his interest than the 56 methods she has personally devised to kill a man with his own severed ears, Nebula’s grateful that at least no one mentioned her failings as an amateur juice-maker. Until she gains proficiency, this shortfall will sting more than the lemon juice she accidentally squeezed into her eye.

To no one’s surprise, Morgan and Harley had a great time and won’t shut up about it. They’re easy to please, especially since Harley convinced FRIDAY to order in cheeseburgers, leading to them clutching greasy wrappers and receiving longing looks from guests with dainty plates of miniature gourmet sliders. They both try to talk at once, so that Tony feels compelled to point at one of his children and say, “Zip it,” then point and the other and say, “Your turn.” Harley ceded to the odd impulse of family responsibility, dancing with a few prestigious guests’ teenage and young adult offspring, but mostly he and Morgan danced by themselves in wild movements that didn’t match the classical music. By now, the guests the family privately refers to as ‘regulars’ expect their eccentricities. They’re Starks, after all.

Tony essentially retells each of his children’s separate adventures after, or even _as_ (Harley and Morgan come by their bad habit of talking over people honestly) the kids are speaking, just to prove to Pepper how functional they are. How they’re doing super duper ok, though Peter fell asleep in an air duct he climbed into last week because sometimes small spaces are the only thing that make him feel safe and more than once they’ve caught Nebula checking the workshops for mechanical body parts because part of her’s still scared that they’ll disassemble her and put her back together with better limbs if she doesn’t constantly perform perfectly. But it’s alright. They can be ok one night at a time.

“I know,” Pepper says, smiling with increasing strain when her husband mentions that Vision spent half the night picking Wanda’s brain for the fourth time. “I _know_ , Tony.”

He’s affronted to be cut off, even if his wife is 112% correct, and he vents his annoyance by summarizing Peter’s less-than-stellar evening.

“Not that she even deserves to talk to you,” he assures his self-conscious son, “without a serious attitude adjustment. She’s the worst, Pep. I mean, who would see this face―” Tony nearly backhands Peter in the fury of his insistence. “―and assume the worst about him?”

“I don’t know,” Peppers says placatingly.

She was more upset about it the first time she heard, last night, when Peter came to her like he comes to her about anything that’s bothering him. Usually.

“If you’d been there when it happened,” Tony continues, “you could’ve given her one of your trademark one-liners. Taking out the trash,” he chuckles to himself, recalling Pepper’s time as his assistant, ruthless in every way.

“It’s fine,” Peter says. Now he’s willing the whole thing to just blow over (except he already heard Harley repeatedly and obnoxiously brag about fictional things he’s going to buy with ‘daddy’s money,’ Morgan almost immediately joining in). “Michelle Jones doesn’t like me and I don’t like her. That’s that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But is "that" _really_ "that"? Is it, Peter? *squinty Thor face*
> 
> Around two dozen of you subscribed after I posted _just_ the character list, so, uh, that was pretty exciting. We are in this one for the long haul, people, and I'm delighted to have you! It's both nerve-wracking and a relief to finally (as if it's been so very long) post chapter one!


	3. Be Obvious

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "'I believe, ma'am, I may safely promise you _never_ to dance with him.'" - _Pride and Prejudice_ , ch. 5

Pepper leaves them to compile a post-benefit report for the board (her second of the day) and without her domesticating influence, most of the others scatter to their various corners of the compound to pursue their hobbies and ditch plates of leftovers in odd corners until a saner family member or friend (sometimes it takes an outsider) walks into their work space and smells something going bad days or weeks later. Even Ned takes off eventually, and Peter finds himself chilling with Vision. Without their father’s more exuberant opinion dominating the room, Vision begins to speak further on his initial impression of Wanda Maximoff.

“We couldn’t have been more fortunate than to gain her for a neighbour,” he says. “Besides her powers, she’s naturally intelligent and intuitive. Most interesting to talk to. Excellent manners, which should warrant her a standing invitation at our future events.”

“And she’s pretty,” Peter adds, with all the slyness he can muster for somebody painfully straightforward. “Which can’t hurt.”

“Well, I...” For a second, Vision’s _almost_ flustered, something Peter’s never seen from him in all the years since Vision’s creation. “In any case, it was certainly very... considerate of her to devote so much of her evening to speaking with me. With such a quantity of new faces in the room, I hadn’t anticipated it. But it was... pleasant.”

Peter suspects that Vision would be blushing if he wasn’t currently in his natural red state. The entity he considers his older brother (despite their ‘birth’ order, because Vision’s way wiser and was better at Peter’s homework, back when he was in school) can simulate a flushed face, same as he can make himself appear human, but he usually doesn’t bother when he’s just hanging out at home. Right now, Peter’s guessing Vision’s too wrapped up in thinking about Wanda to do the blushing thing, which is adorable as hell.

“Dude, how did you not anticipate it? I definitely saw that coming.” Whenever he looked around last night, Wanda was either with Vision or glancing over the shoulder of whoever she was talking to in order to get a glimpse of Vision. “I guess that’s a difference between you and me,” Peter concludes, shrugging. “I’m never surprised when people are curious about you. I’m including ‘good-looking neighbours’ in the general category of ‘people.’ It’s not like Wanda wasn’t gonna notice that you’re infinitely smarter than everyone else in every room you’re ever in. If she hadn’t, there would’ve had to be something wrong with her.”

Vision bristles and Peter quickly, though with a grin, assures his brother he was kidding.

“You should like her, Vision,” he encourages. “You could do a lot worse.”

“... Is that considered a compliment?”

“Um, I think so. I just mean that, so far, at least Wanda seems worthy of how trusting you can be.” Peter looks down, bemused, as part of him retreats deep within himself. “I don’t know how you do that.”

“Perhaps,” Vision says gently, “you might try not expecting the worst. No one wants to betray you, Peter.” He’s aware of his brother’s sensitivity surrounding the disloyalty of Mysterio, a former ally.

“Hey, that’s another thing you’re better at than me,” Peter says, laughing it off. Vision allows him to. “What I don’t get is how you can be so trusting and so honest at the same time. I mean, I get it. But I don’t _get_ it. Like, you mentioned you thought Brad seemed like a good guy.”

“Didn’t you?”

“No, he seems like a dick.”

Vision looks at him with amusement.

“He was quite tolerable to talk to. He’s living at the Park with Wanda, so I’m sure our neighbours will continue to grow on us the more we encounter them.”

Yeah... Peter isn’t buying it. He was an optimist, once upon a time, but life’s slapped him in the face a bunch since then. It’s better to be cautious. There’s no guarantee that Brad isn’t another Mysterio, cut from the same jerk cloth. He doesn’t want to taint the, like, purity of Vision’s worldview or anything, so he’ll keep his more critical observations of last night to himself. Vision’s for sure the best reader of a person superficially, and maybe that’s what’s throwing his analysis. Because, yeah, Brad definitely looked and played the part of newly-arrived Manhattanite, and he was willing enough to enact that persona for anyone who drew him into conversation―let them think that _their_ interest was interesting to _him_ ―yet to Peter’s eyes, the effort of making the choice to stoop to conversation was obvious. And it was definitely a stoop; Brad seemed like he was looking down on them as much as Michelle Jones had.

Brad had a good Ivey League education and the benefit of the connections that come with a manipulative personality and being known for high academic standing. He associated with people better off than the Maximoffs and very quickly came to think of himself as their equal, meaning it’s no wonder that he behaves how he does. Those memories are more recent than the ones of his acceptance to college (on scholarship) and, before that, the death of his and Wanda’s parents and brother, Pietro. It’s like Brad’s boarded up his childhood in his mind and hidden that eyesore behind all the ways he’s convinced himself that he’s superior to others.

The money to purchase the Park was a result of Wanda’s budgeting of what inheritance they received after losing their family to the destruction of Sokovia. It’s the payoff for going into elite schools as scholarship kids and eating too many Cup O’ Noodles after midnight, as they put in extra time with their coursework and studying to ensure they retained their bursaries each term. Of course, they hadn’t gone to college at the same time. That was supposed to be Wanda and Pietro. The twins. Instead, Wanda did it on her own. Brad picked a different college on instinct; he’d always worked hard to separate himself from the twins.

When the Snap happened, Wanda disappeared for five years. When she came back, Brad wasn’t as keen on separation. That’s why he’s living at the Park with her. Also, because he did five years of growing older that she skipped, they’re the same age now. Twins. He’s starting to see why she and Pietro clung to each other so fiercely and how terrible it must be to have that torn away. Brad’s hanging onto his sister―unfortunately, it’s turned him an ugly shade of overprotective, with moments where the motive behind his advice is controlling her more than helping her to be happy. Wanda, who still sees Brad as her little brother, hasn’t been guarding against this and is fairly susceptible to his influence, as her only remaining family member. Apart from her family-by-choice, Michelle Jones.

Wanda met Michelle at college. Though Michelle was born the same year as Brad, she was starting undergrad while Wanda―back from the Snap and dizzy from how the world changed―embarked on her Master’s. Seeking peace in familiarity, Wanda had returned to the same arts college where she’d studied before. The culinary sciences building was next to visual arts and, after she bumped into the same reticent, wavy-haired girl hauling art supplies day after day and finally convinced her to give Wanda a peek at her work, friendship followed. Michelle quietly treasures how opposite they are, secretly envious of her now-best friend’s ease and openness with other people. In turn, Wanda counts on Michelle’s observations and opinions unconditionally and they’re equals. Wanda’s ability to make Michelle’s markers fly across a room has never changed their essential view of each other.

However, other people are apt to see Wanda’s supernatural talents and her friendly smile and value these things high above Michelle’s scowls, sarcasm, and crossed arms. Luckily, Michelle doesn’t care what other people think and figures she’s already made the best friend she’s ever going to have. Why change herself for a stranger?

Their assessments of the benefit event are typical for their disparate personalities and outlooks. Wanda considers everyone she met as new soon-to-be friends, rating highly their willingness to welcome the Starks’ neighbours into their circle. Michelle recalls a roomful of the one-percent, gluttonous and greedy with eyes that did no more than accept or reject based on perceived worth. No thanks. Sure, Vision stands apart from that, seeming refreshingly genuine; Michelle wonders if that’s Vision rejecting any innate Starkness poured into him during his development. To be made and then remake himself―that makes him twice the man the rest of those capitalist dunces were or will ever be.

Brad, immediately threatened, admits that Vision’s interesting, but kind of freaks him out. Being willing to spend more time in his company doesn’t mean he’s going to be any less wary.

Between this pair of evaluations, Wanda hears and feels enough support to continue her good opinion of Vision, and to hope for their paths to cross sooner rather than later.

* * *

Tony can complain about the tide of suburbia swelling around them, but one of the first residences to spring up within five miles belongs to the family of his son’s best friend. Peter and Ned were in almost all the same classes since starting school; finding each other in their high school’s hallway after the second Snap returned the Vanished bound them even more tightly and, when the Leedses had sufficient means as well as motivation, they relocated Upstate and named their home ‘Leeds Lodge.’ So maybe ‘the Park’ doesn’t stand alone in its presumptuousness.

After both families vacated New York City, the variety of conversation topics between Ned and Peter dwindled, not that it really mattered. They gamed, built Lego models, fiddled around with the schematics and possibilities of Peter’s old Spidey suits, and what they did talk about was discussed over and over. And over. So days passed and they would still find themselves circling back to the SI benefit.

The idea of Wanda and his brother together has been growing on Peter and he asks his best friend’s opinion. Ned danced once with Wanda himself. Aware of his reputation as being extremely easygoing, he thought of himself as a good transition for the Maximoffs to becoming acquaintance with the Starks. Iron Man was a hero, and remains so in legacy, but Ned’s sensitive and notices how some people don’t know how to behave around a former hero, now equipped with a wheelchair or sleek exoskeleton. He didn’t end up having to worry about that with Wanda, who’s sensitive on a whole other level, and he has plenty of good things to report when Peter mentions her. Including her vocal curiosity about Vision.

“She said he was the most interesting dude in the room,” Ned informs Peter.

“Nice,” he replies, half his attention still on Mario Kart.

“Still can’t believe her friend roasted you like that. Right in front of you, but not, like, to your face. So uncool.”

“Right?!”

“Seemed like the only one she didn’t mind talking to was Wanda’s brother, whatshisname.”

“Brad,” Peter says darkly. “Did you get major dickhead vibes from that guy, or was that just me?”

“ _Major_ dickhead,” Ned agrees. “But Michelle should’ve danced with you.”

“Whatever, man. I don’t even care,” Peters promises lightly, swerving to try to force Donkey Kong off the track. After a second, he adds, “Maybe I could forgive her for being so opinionated, if she hadn’t had such a shitty opinion of _me_.”

“Her loss.”

That makes Peter smile.

“Thanks, Ned.”

* * *

Over at the Park, the residents aren’t being any gentler about the assumptions they’re forming of the Stark family. Or, at least, Brad isn’t. He has an ego comparable to Tony’s―a belief that things _should_ go his way, no matter how he behaves―but instead of recognizing and celebrating this similarity, Brad’s ready to write the Stark patriarch off as a total jackass. The wheelchair thing sucks, and he does feel bad about that, but he suppresses it beneath the thought that, if Iron Man had just stopped the first Snap that took away Brad’s sister, he wouldn’t have been injured performing the now-legendary Second Snap. He might be ready to fawn over Tony Stark in public and tell him that Iron Man’s always been his hero, his favourite Avenger, whatever. That’s survival though. That’s necessary. Why would he intentionally make an enemy of someone who could fuck him up with a tracking missile or some shit?

Brad’s just as quick to discount the half-machine, half-woman from a very short list of people who are worthy of his time and attention. He almost called her ‘Neptune’ instead of... what was it? Nebula? Anyway, almost got her name wrong at the event, like, a bunch of times and she definitely caught him and soured right away. Neptune is round and blue. Nebula’s head is round and blue. He couldn’t help making the connection! It was an honest mistake! Hopefully she won’t hold a grudge, because everything about her screams that she, like her dad, could fuck him up. And probably make it hurt more. Not so much one big blast to end it all as hours of torture, then his mutilated body hidden someplace no one would ever find it. Yeah, she seems nuts like that. Unlike how he plans to deal with Tony Stark in the future (heaping praise, phony admiration), Brad’s strategy with Nebula is just to stay the hell away from her.

The two hyper Starks might be the worst of all, on reflection. They’re like one person who’s so disorienting to be around that it makes him feel like he’s seeing double. Brad guesses that the boy, Harley, is probably named after a motorcycle because his dad has a perpetual boner for anything with a power source. Morgan... he doesn’t know. Maybe named after Captain Morgan, because he’s heard that Tony Stark used to be quite the alchie back in the day. At least he was spared having to talk to them at the benefit, since they were too busy bouncing off the walls. Brad found it embarrassing (for them). Morgan had to be around ten, which was old enough, he knew from growing up with a sister, for a girl to start acting more mature. The insanity had to be Harley’s influence, and that was just pathetic. Dude needed to get a grip. What was there to be so fucking exuberant about?

Peter and Vision. It’s these two who Brad’s willing to give a shot. Vision because Wanda seems pretty interested in him and because, yeah, it’s pretty freaking awesome that he’s a sentient android man. Peter he could befriend mainly to get on his good side so he doesn’t dissuade Vision from hanging out at their house. He doubts Peter’s smart enough to figure that out.

* * *

Peter doesn’t like Brad or his unbelievably fake niceness either of the times the members of the Stark and Maximoff households bump into each other in the area. (Tony argues that anything they need can be delivered directly to the compound, or fetched by one of his unmanned suits, but Pepper mentions ridiculous things like the kids needing fresh air and a view of the outside world that doesn’t have a window in between it and them.) He thinks Brad’s doing for Wanda the same thing Peter’s doing for Vision: keeping things friendly for the sake of their sibling. Who do seem to be warming to each other more and more, by the way. Vision’s really respectful of people in general, but Peter notices that his brother seems extra courteous to Wanda, always wondering how the renovations to the Park’s kitchen are going, always asking plenty of questions. More questions than what it takes to be polite; instead, it’s like Vision’s always trying to make each of their encounters last longer. But he’s never done anything overt to show his intentions go beyond neighbourly attentiveness. Peter’s a little worried about that.

“Listen, man,” Ned councils when Peter comes to him with his concerns, “if Vision’s really interested in Wanda, he’s gotta be obvious. More obvious than whatever Vision thinks is obvious, you know?”

Peter nods, rapt.

“Yeah, she’s really nice and I don’t want her to think Vision’s just being _nice_ back.”

“What can I say, Peter?” Ned asks wistfully. “Love is about taking risks. You might as well go out on a limb if you’re into someone. You have to believe _you’re_ worth it.”

Frowning, Peter isn’t sure why this is starting to sound like his best friend’s coaching _him_ instead of giving him advice to pass on.

“I don’t think Vision has a self-confidence program,” he says, refocusing the dialogue.

“Maybe not, but he is, you know, hard to read. Can be. Like, he has the same level of excitement in his voice whether he’s saying that he loved what you got him for his birthday or telling you where the toilet paper is.”

“Why did you need to kno―”

“My point is, Vision needs to be more than polite or else Wanda’s gonna move on. She has a budding entrepreneurial future, she’s pretty, and she has freaking _superpowers_ , dude. Vision can’t sleep on this.”

“I think he’s _trying_. He’s never done this before, remember?”

“Without a grander gesture,” Ned suggests, “the next best thing would be for them to see each other more often. You know, quantity over quality until Vision gets better at flirting.”

“He’s getting to know her,” Peter says, defending his brother.

“He can get to know her _after_ they become a couple.”

“Ned...” But Peter can’t think of what else to say and he just sighs at his friend.

* * *

Peter has no clue that for every moment he spends watching Wanda and Vision, MJ spends five watching him. With less compunction to make conversation, she has time to spare in observing the Stark who’s gradually becoming more interesting to her.

At the benefit, MJ basically told Wanda that she thought Stark money was responsible for anything mildly attractive about Peter. The tailoring of his navy suit and the shine of his designer shoes. The next time they crossed paths, MJ was getting annoyed by how long Wanda and Vision were standing around, idly chatting, and when she looked at Peter, her bad mood prompted her to internally criticize every detail. How he stood, how he smiled, how warm his wool coat must be; she and Wanda left the Park for a walk and MJ made the mistake of dressing for the Novembers they’d shared the past few years―the Novembers of the city, where skyscrapers and dense foot traffic on the sidewalks kept the wind out―instead of the bitter, wet chill of Upstate Novembers. By the time she has herself and her housemates (the Maximoffs) pretty thoroughly convinced that Peter’s a spoiled little rich boy and 100% _not_ for her, her opinion’s already swinging back the other way.

It starts with his eyes. MJ holds eye contact to challenge and intimidate. Peter seems to do it because he’s eager and interested and curious. She hasn’t been close enough to discount the influence of money on his gaze (could be coloured contacts that make the brown of his eyes so rich), but the expression in his eyes strikes her as unusually genuine, and therefore compelling. So compelling that she _tries_ to get him to look at her now. Actually participates in conversation for those few moments of anticipation where Peter’s turning his head before their eyes meet.

Dominoes from there.

She thought his smile was weak. Now it’s charmingly uncertain. She noticed he never seemed to know what to do with his hands. Now she’s impressed to hear that he’s a brilliant chemist. His body had seemed stupidly, action-figure-ishly perfect. Now she appreciates his quiet strength, the way he doesn’t use it to show off. And the little skip Peter does when leaving a room has MJ’s heart skipping too.

MJ doesn’t let Peter see any of this, just silently observes him, dismantles her assumptions, and constructs a new reality of him. When he spots her looking at him, he assumes she’s judging him in preparation for another cutting remark that he may or may not overhear. All Peter’s sure of is that she thinks he’s the wealthy Tony Stark’s wealthy son, and too dorky to dance with.

Initiating a long conversation with Peter is a daunting step, so instead MJ hovers in orbit when he talks to other people, attempting to learn more about him from what he says and how he acts. Peter didn’t always see her staring from across a room, but now she’s suddenly on the outskirts of all of his small talk. It’s pretty obvious. He just doesn’t know _why_ she’s doing it. An opportunity to consult Ned for his wisdom presents itself one afternoon. The Starks and the Maximoffs (plus Michelle) converge on Leeds Lodge, an unofficially neutral location during Wanda and Vision’s tentative flirting and Peter’s avoidance of both Michelle and Brad.

“What’s she doing?” Peter hisses to Ned.

“What’s who―”

“ _Shhh_!”

“ _What’s who doing_?” Ned tries again at a whisper, letting his best friend guide him into the corner of the Leeds’s living room.

“Michelle! I barely started talking to Wanda and suddenly Michelle’s right beside me!”

Ned shrugs.

“Michelle’s never done that to me. Only she could answer that.”

“Well, if she keeps doing it,” Peter vows, darting his gaze around the room because her attention made him jumpy and awkward, “I’m going to say something. I can’t just let her stand there and take notes on every stupid thing that comes out of my mouth so she can make fun of me later.”

“She was taking notes?”

“In her head she was,” Peter says defensively. “Maybe it’s weird to point it out, but I’d rather confront her than let her think I’m some spineless nerd who’ll never defend himself.”

“I doubt she thinks that. You were Spider-Man,” Ned reminds him with a chuckle. “Anyway, why do you care what she thinks?”

Peter ignores the question. This is a serious mistake because his best friend decides that what Peter needs to do is relax and stop being so freaking serious. (In general, but also right now, because he looks tenser every time Michelle speaks or walks past them.) Ned elects to give Peter the Leeds Cure: _Just Dance_.

Without explaining this plan to Peter, Ned leads his guests to the basement. The gaming system down here is limited edition― _very_ limited edition. Something Tony screwed around with in his spare time and gave to Ned just to see the look on the kid’s face. Since the trauma of the first Snap and the numb shock of the second, new versions of _Just Dance_ were one of those nonessentials that fell by the wayside. However, Ned’s Stark setup can access any of the dances released before 2018.

When Peter realizes exactly what his best friend’s up to, he panics. But, like, it a very calm, totally unnoticeable way. Which definitely doesn’t escalate when Ned yells, “Peter’ll show you guys how it’s done!”

“No, no, no, no,” Peter says hurriedly, under his breath as he rushes up to his friend and tries to stop him from cueing the game, but Ned shakes him off with a smile.

He’s unusually stern too, not letting anyone else play until Peter agrees to go first. With a whoop from Harley (that Morgan joins in on a second later), Peter picks the ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’ routine. He knows from experience that it’s a lot of stomping and punching―things he’s kind of an expert at―so he shouldn’t look too goofy. Or, _dorky_.

Because his eyes stay on the screen, Peter does actually have fun; endorphins from letting loose are triumphing over how edgy Michelle’s been making him feel and at least one person is singing along behind him. Who cares about these new neighbours? His family (including Ned) knows how to take care of itself.

He finishes with a silly sense of accomplishment, which he doesn’t mind, because it’s better than the kind of accomplishment that involves activating Instant Kill and having nightmares for years.

Ned tries to make him do another round right away, but Peter turns him down with a laugh. To the shock of those who know her, Nebula steps forward. Previously, she witnessed Peter and Ned engage in this activity and watched passively before leaving the room. Today, with new faces gathered around, she feels an urge to display her physicality. It will not be like the battles which Thanos forced her and Gamora (she tries not to think of her dead sister now) to partake in. Here, she can be a victor or not and face no punishment.

“I would like to try,” she announces and cocks her head as Ned gives her a quick rundown.

Nebula studied Peter, her adoptive brother, while he performed and has understood the fundamentals, she believes, but it would be... impolite to interrupt Peter’s spirited friend, who seems to think he is providing her with assistance. She clenches her jaw to focus and control her impatience. This _Just Dance_ will be another skill to master, with possible future applications in combat. Ah, here is a selection she likes the looks of. The song is called ‘Titanium.’

“Are any of your, uh, components? Is that the right word?” Brad stumbles, unsure now that he’s lurched forward into a personal question he doesn’t know how to conclude. “Are any of them titanium?”

“Of course not,” Nebula replies. No further explanation.

Nobody sings for her or cheers as she begins; Nebula’s intensity and the power of her movements (even when mimicking dance moves) are a completely different type of performance from Peter’s. Harley and Morgan can’t hold their restlessness in until the end of the song though and start dancing around the room. They do it well out of the way of their sister because, while she’s gotten used to them over the past few years, Nebula still has a relatively short fuse.

She finds the game amusing and energizing and, without Ned’s help, chooses ‘Blue (Da Ba Dee’) for her next dance. The words are amusingly nonsensical, the actual song an assault to her ears.

“This music is terrible,” she comments, going through the dance regardless.

Morgan and Harley’s craziness escalates into a two-person mosh pit.

“Woo!” Ned shouts. “Dance party! We should _totally_ do that sometime.”

Michelle snorts, taking Peter’s attention away from Nebula’s sort of adorable focus on replicating the dance moves.

“Didn’t we just have one? Don’t tell me waltzing at a Stark Industries benefit doesn’t pass for a dance party,” Michelle says sarcastically.

Ned sees his best friend’s smile drop off his face and quickly intervenes before the low-level aggravation Peter’s harbouring evolves into a verbal throw-down.

“You two should do one together!” he suggests, eyes going from Peter to Michelle. “A duet!” Maybe it’s an insane idea, but Ned trusts his own problem-solving abilities implicitly.

When they hesitate, Ned continues (to Peter’s mortification).

“Ok, maybe Peter’s not that smooth, but he won’t step on your toes or drop you.”

“Drop me?” Michelle’s expression says she’s nope-ing out of this _hard_. That doesn’t stop Ned.

“Yeah, if you do one where you have to lean into him or let him dip you or something.”

“We’re not doing that,” Peter finally says, stepping forward.

“Come on,” Ned pleads, “ _yes_.”

When Nebula finishes to genuine congratulations from Vision and Wanda (she receives them with a pleased nod, hiding her small smile), Ned scans through the song choices, eyeing ‘Careless Whisper.’

“Ned, no. I’m serious this time,” Peter says.

“It’s easier with a partner!”

“It’s not about the partner!”

As if that’s fooling anyone. As if he’d be objecting so hard if this was a family-only hangout instead of his best friend’s attempt to pair him off with someone he strongly dislikes (and who strongly dislikes _him_ ). As if _Just Dance_ is the secret to instant friendship.

“I mean,” Michelle says stiffly, startling Peter by speaking at all, “I’ll do it if you will.”

“See?” Ned turns to Peter, giving him _bend to my will_ eyebrows. “Look how nice she is.”

“Oh, the nicest,” Peter says lightly and books it up the basement stairs before he has to meet her eyes another time.

Ned shrugs and makes an excuse to Michelle, something about Peter probably needing to get home to do something for his mom, or make sure his dad doesn’t blow up his workshop. Without Peter there, she just nods and retreats to the back wall, gazing absently at Wanda, Ned, and the remaining Starks―all doing different dumb dances, none of them really matching up with the song they have on now. And all having a better time than she is without Peter here.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Brad says slyly, coming to lean against the wall next to her.

“I doubt it.”

MJ doesn’t feel like talking. Why should she talk to Brad? She _lives_ with Brad. That’s plenty of Brad time.

“You’re thinking...” He lowers his voice, tilting his mouth closer to her ear. MJ glares from the corner of her eye, but he doesn’t seem to pick up on it. “...how the hell are we going to keep spending time with these people if this is their idea of fun?” Brad laughs like she agreed. “I know, isn’t this the worst? I’m embarrassed for them. Also, I can barely hear myself think.”

MJ wants to promise him he isn’t missing anything, but he’s her best friend’s brother, so she resists. What she can do to shut him up for a minute is answer the question he tried to answer for her.

“Maybe you could’ve been more wrong, but I’m not sure how,” she says flatly, staring straight ahead. “I wasn’t thinking about them at all. I was thinking about how powerful a person’s eyes can be. How they can draw you right in and make you understand things that you wouldn’t understand any other way.”

She saw them, when Ned tried to foist a duet on them. She saw Peter’s eyes up close. No contacts.

Brad looks amused.

“What colour eyes?”

“Brown.”

Now he looks even more interested, plus kind of cocky, lifting his chin and smirking. Idiot. She wants to roll her eyes.

“And who might these wonderful eyes belong to?”

“Peter Stark.”

“Peter Stark!”

Brad laughs, but no one else really notices. They’re too busy enjoying themselves. MJ has the fleeting thought that Brad doesn’t deserve these people, these new neighbours, these billionaires who play _Just Dance_ in their friend’s basement.

“How long has _that_ been going on?” Brad teases. There’s a harshness in his tone now. He probably thinks he’s hiding it. “Have you already felt him up in the Spider-Man costume? Are you sharing a bank account? I should’ve thought of that! Dating one of them could be lucrative.”

“Brad, shut up,” MJ sighs. She has to hope, for Wanda’s sake, that Brad’s not quite that much of a prick. “That’s exactly the kind of dumb shit I knew you would say.”

This sounds enough like common ribbing that she knows he won’t detect the extent of her contempt.

“Honestly,” Brad says, trying another disbelieving laugh that sticks in his throat, “if _you’re_ ready to open up about your feelings― _you_ , the one who’d rather glare at people than talk to them―it has to be serious. Throw a few affordable items on the wedding registry for us peasants and try not to forget about us when you’re living in the _Avengers_ compound with a bunch of billionaires. Hope that smug bastard Tony Stark grows on you.”

It’s pretty amazing how MJ can tune Brad’s words right out until it’s like somebody left an annoying podcast on in the background. She finds swift and immersive peace in the memory of Peter’s brown eyes. Her calm thoughts keep her still enough to convince Brad (she can tell by the way his defensively raised shoulders lower) that she’s not really that into Peter Stark after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to meganseverafter, Torvalvt, redpepprflakes, seekrest, inasentimentalmood, tvfanatic97, iarrannme, and Sususolutions for your comments on chapter one!! They mean so much as we're getting underway with this story! It's a massive project and the support and encouragement really help.
> 
> We'll hit the first big event of the story in the next chapter! In the original novel, it's Jane Bennet taking ill and being housebound at Bingley's, forcing Elizabeth and Darcy to spend several days in close proximity. I've adapted this plot point closely, so get ready for more Peter and MJ (our Lizzie and Darcy) interaction!
> 
> Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to all!


	4. Staying Over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "'That would be a good scheme,' said Elizabeth, 'if you were sure that they would not offer to send her home.'" - _Pride and Prejudice_ , ch. 7

When potential investors of nefarious and benign purposes alike inquired about the progress of Stark Industries, Tony used to say, “Well, it isn’t what it was,” in a tone of fake disparagement. Really, that was a joke. The words were true, but in a completely different way. Stark Industries was never what it was the year, month, day, or hour before because Tony was constantly innovating. He only declared a project finished for the kick he got starting on the next, improved version.

After reconfiguring his and Peter’s suits (the super ones) to nanotech, Tony’s frenzy began to slow. He was protecting them better than he ever had. He wouldn’t tap the brakes, but he’d ease off the gas a little. They were safe. Until Thanos turned his son to dust in his arms and all the technology in the world couldn’t do a damn thing about it. Getting himself and Nebula back to Earth alive was a long-slog marathon with the desperation of a sprint, every choice, every weld, every rerouted circuit the kind of vital innovation he thought (and kept thinking, and kept thinking, and kept thinking when life kept flinging another grenade into his lap) he’d never have to do again.

Tony arrived home with a new kid―Nebula would’ve felt oddly like family even without helping him elbow-grease that sarcophagus of a ship into keeping them alive―without the one he left with, to news that Harley had failed to answer Pepper when she called for him (as well as every call after, vanished like his brother), and just in time for Pepper, still inconsolable over their sons, to discover they _had_ conceived before the shit hit the fan. Things were as unbearable as they were going to get, Tony figured, and he wouldn’t do it anymore. He couldn’t. He set his work aside and things got better. Some things. Vision returned from Wakanda, battered but whole, thanks to Princess Shuri’s unparalleled imagination and the cutting edge technology at her disposal (much of it pioneered by her). Nebula was silent yet present, still there when Tony left the room and came back. Pepper’s body became an organic suit of armour around their third biological child.

But Morgan... that girl was born curious. The realization that it would be impossible for him to design nothing to protect her went pretty well with his daughter’s impish instinct to poke around in the tidy, defunct workshop that Tony was beginning to mess up again. She was his transition, he understood after the fact. She brought him back to the world (his word, of nearly burning his eyebrows off at least once a day) so that he could save it again when it was time. Time. Yeah, save it with a knock-off gauntlet and a time machine. He always did like to go big.

With the world-slash-universe mostly healed and on a long, long path to settling in its bones, with his sons rematerialized, and his own body having been pushed beyond what it could take (he remembered the crack of his back, over all that noise), Tony pressed the brake to the floor, and pulled the emergency brake too.

Now, he’s content to fiddle, to tinker, and other cutesy verbs suitable for folklore elves. Now, Stark Industries truly isn’t what it was in its heyday, but it also kind of _is_. Tony makes what his family needs―the definition of what they need is something Pepper helps him continually establish―and takes the same attitude with his SI creations. If they still call him Iron Man, they should do it because he spends his time ironing the kinks out of existing designs. He loosens the reins on the exclusivity of SI shares, spreading the responsibility and hanging onto control with a slacker grip.

It’s been good for stability, the company’s and the Starks’. Maybe not anymore though.

Becoming less involved in the business side made him sloppy and although Pepper blames herself for not digging deep enough, Tony knows this one’s on him. The result―what they’re not telling the kids yet―is that several of the apparently separate companies that acquired SI shares have turned out to be under the same ownership. Very carefully concealed, the fine print so small that, huh, it looks like they didn’t even put it in the contracts. A little underhandedness and deception is to be expected. A lot, something on this level, is a serious threat to the future of Stark Industries; when the shares are pooled, this smokescreened owner of multiple businesses magically becomes the majority shareholder of _Tony’s_ business.

Hence the furious work ethic he’s re-established, trying to build his way out of the latest problem to present itself. But yeah, at least it’s not the end of the world. Again. This is so much more tedious. Tony balks from acknowledging it, but he’s putting quite a few of his eggs in the buying-Wanda’s-restaurant basket. Though he didn’t actually approach her about it at the benefit as planned. There were too many balls in the air that night and he didn’t want to be overly intense with the proposition. He needs this to work and scaring Wanda off would be counterproductive, to say the least.

Tony’s been wondering for a while though if Vision isn’t the answer. Vision, whose foundation was a microcosm of Tony’s accomplishments and expertise, can blaze a trail for Stark Industries to follow. His drive to be ever-evolving is the hunting hound that forges ahead, knowing intuitively where to go. A good investment for Tony and something even more meaningful for his son―it can’t be a coincidence that both Tony and Vision have singled out Wanda Maximoff as a key player.

There are more things Tony wants to investigate―slow rumours of technology of advanced origin trickling through the state―but he’s convinced that diversifying is the way to go. Stark Industries has existed in the same sector for its entire history. If Wanda’s open to discussing his acquisition of the restaurant, he’ll do his best not to immediately start suggesting further renovations to the Park or bespoke robot waiters for the dining room.

Tony doesn’t want to put pressure on any of his kids, including Vision, which is what’s so great about his oldest son pursuing Wanda on his own. Pepper, however, more practical-minded, believes that all of their children should spend more time understanding the company they’re suddenly worried about holding onto. They don’t need to scare the kids, just educate them. She thinks Vision and Peter are off to a good start, that Nebula has potential because of her focus and relentlessness, but that Harley’s getting too wrapped up in his side projects―like his dad. Morgan, still in the thick of childhood, can be spared the spreadsheets and quarterly statements. Anyway, Pepper’s sure that their daughter will learn before Tony or she even thinks to teach her. Morgan looks to Harley for information. That’s why it’s so important to focus on _him_.

The hint that any of their kids can be accused of not living up to some arbitrary standard (aaand Tony’s already misinterpreting Pepper’s point) sets Tony off, so he and his wife are having a dangerously monotone argument when Vision walks in. He smiles vaguely to see that his siblings have arrived ahead of him, spectators to their parents’ tense discussion, but most of his attention is on the email he received minutes ago. He announces this and Pepper looks thankful for the interruption.

“From Wanda?” Tony demands, simply redirecting his energy to this new topic. “Why? What did she say? Come on, out with it.”

“The message is from Brad,” Vision says, and recites it.

_Hey, Vision,_

_What’s up? If you’re not busy, I was wondering if you wanted to come over this afternoon. Wanda and MJ left to have lunch and source suppliers for the restaurant before it opens, so I’m just unpacking my sister’s utensils and stuff and putting them in the right drawers. It’s not that exciting and the time would go by faster if you wanted to hang out while I work on it. Hope you’re free for a couple hours. You can just drop in._

_Brad_

Vision looks up at his family for their response to this communication which, to him, is a welcome step forward. Further development of his acquaintance with Wanda’s brother can only serve to increase the intimacy between himself and Wanda. He admits to himself that this has become his main goal of the moment; there is something about her that speaks deeply to him, something rooted in her energy that is quite incomparable.

“Sourcing suppliers? Hey, we could’ve helped with that!” Harley blurts. “I could help Wanda make people give her the best offers. Dad tells me like five times a day how manipulative I am, right, Dad?”

Tony gives him a subtle wink, then shakes his head vehemently when Pepper turns to him, clearly not thrilled by this news.

“I believe Wanda could manage that herself, should she so choose,” Vision reminds Harley, “given how... influential her powers are.”

She’s never used them against him, of course, merely spoken of them, though he’s hoping for a demonstration one of these days.

“Yeah, I guess,” Harley sighs, defeated. “It’s just that I don’t have any morals to stop me from doing it.”

“Apparently!” Pepper scolds. Harley grins, making Morgan giggle.

Tony shushes everyone with a brusque wave of his arm.

“So Wanda’s not going to be there? That’s strange.”

“Maybe she’s giving her brother space to get to know Vision,” Pepper suggests. It’s exactly the explanation Vision himself landed on and he’s pleased to hear the theory supported.

“Or to grill him and tell Vision he’s not good enough for his sister,” Harley adds cheerfully.

Peter raises his eyebrows at his brother.

“Dude, not helpful.”

Harley just shrugs.

“Regardless, I see no reason not to go,” Vision states. “If Pepper is correct, it’s a good opportunity. If Harley is, it would be a demonstration of weakness to decline.”

“No one’s going to think you’re weak,” Peter assures him. “You don’t have to go hang out with that guy. He’s a prick.”

“Peter,” Pepper says warningly after Morgan gleefully repeats this assessment of Brad.

“Perhaps I should leave before this conversation can deteriorate any further,” Vision proposes.

“Ah, wait, wait, wait,” Tony says as Vision turns to go. “I have a diagnostic I was hoping to run through with you. Can we do that first?”

Since Vision sustained injuries fighting Thanos and his ‘children’ in Wakanda, Princess Shuri has been providing him with diagnostics to gauge his recovery and rate of subsequent growth. It’s much like how Tony continues to be treated for damage to his physical and mental states, only Vision’s wounds are not so human, requiring minor tuning that has grown less frequent over time. Typically, he receives these ‘check-ups’ directly, but Tony has been an intermediary on occasion. Vision suspects that it is this hands-on role in his care that reinforces Tony’s fatherly feelings towards him. He’s never been averse to Tony’s paternal impulses; years ago, he recognized that they are as much to Tony’s benefit as his own.

Vision agrees to his father’s request and Tony tries not to beam as he wheels out of the room at his side, heading for the workshop they usually utilize for reviewing any of Vision’s mind/tech fusion. Tony made up the part about wanting to do this today. Also, the part where he guarantees that Vision won’t feel any so-called side effects that might impinge on his planned visit to the Park. He knows this isn’t a quick scan―it’s an in-depth trawl of the minutiae of Vision’s workings that has the potential to go so far as to incapacitate him because of the amount of energy it’ll require.

Ok, maybe it’s dishonest, but the fib he tells his eldest son (that the scan’s almost complete and he’s good to go) is going to pay off. Tony’s certain. He sees Vision off with a hearty nod.

“You did something, didn’t you?” Peter wonders, finding his dad in the workshop once Vision’s gone.

“He’s fucking with him.”

Nebula’s confirmation comes from the corner, where she’s dismantling... oh _man_ , not the toaster!

“Where did you hear that word?” Tony demands, idly leveling a screwdriver at her.

“The first thousand times, or most recently?” she asks without glancing up.

“Most recently.”

“Morgan.”

Peter snorts in amusement and disbelief at how easily Nebula will give her siblings up. It’s not malicious though―he’s seen how messing with them all seems to make her feel more like part of the family. Probably a gentler version of the way she and Gamora used to unscrupulously betray each other in attempts to gain Thanos’s favour. He’s heard stories.

Tony seizes on the issue of Morgan’s colourful vocabulary to move the conversation away from Vision, but his efforts are meaningless three hours later, when Vision calls the compound, a hologram of his face popping up in Peter’s room to deliver a pre-recorded message. Not the human face he normally uses around the Maximoffs, but his more familiar red one. Right away, that isn’t a good sign.

“Peter,” Vision says, “I hate to worry you, but my condition has progressed beyond what I can comfortably tolerate. I should, of course, have come back to the compound as soon as I realized the evaluation begun this morning exceeded the typical duration. My excuse is a vain one; I feared unnerving Brad with a reminder of my otherness. Wanda and Miss Jones have returned from their outing and the former is particularly insistent that I not feel obligated to have someone retrieve me, but rather allow her an opportunity to see what the effect of her powers may be on my temporary plight. I have assured all three of my hosts that I have encountered and survived far worse. I’m sure that you will see how minor an inconvenience this is for me, particularly when juxtaposed with the rather larger imposition my presence is at the Park. Please do not be alarmed if I am unable to travel the short distance home until tomorrow. I’ll contact you again when I have the energy to spare.”

Peter races from the room, takes the elevator, and taps on the door of Pepper’s office to tell her about Vision. She sighs in a pained, anxious way and shakes her head. The exoskeleton manipulating Tony’s legs makes his footfalls heavier than they used to be, drawing the attention of his wife and son before he enters the room. (He’s been monitoring the communications in and out of the compound, as well as the hallway security cameras, since Vision’s departure, and saw his eldest child call and his younger one go sprinting down the hall―has to be related.)

“Well, Tony,” Pepper says from her desk, bracing her arms wide as she faces off against her husband, Peter frantic and wide-eyed between them, “if whatever you did has stranded Vision, possibly putting him at risk―I don’t know! You didn’t tell me what you were doing!― at least he’s stranded with Wanda.”

“Exactly,” Tony says with a grin.

“I’m pretty sure Mom’s being sarcastic because your plan was really stupid,” Peter points out.

“Attitude!” his dad exclaims at the same time his mom says, “Agreed.”

The answers are a reversal for these two, for sure, and Peter figures he better get out of there fast because his parents reacting like each other can’t be good.

“I’m going over there,” he informs them. “To the Park.”

“Everything’s gonna be fine,” Tony argues, raising a hand to halt Peter as he tries to pass. “Vision’s got this one. He was fighting Ultron when you were still in diapers.”

“I was _twelve_.”

“Yes, well, we all mature at different speeds.”

Before Peter can argue that the period of his life when he might have peed his pants was way in the rearview mirror by the time he turned twelve, his mom tactfully interrupts.

“That’s a good idea, Peter,” Pepper says calmly. She starts off that way anyhow, but strain creeps into her voice as she goes on. “You should check on Vision and let us know right away if you think there’s a chance that your irresponsible father can actually fix whatever he’s damaged.”

“It’s totally routine!” Tony says. “Vision’s just a lightweight.”

Pepper exhales steadily through her nose while Peter remains poised to leave.

“Do not compare doing a shitty job of administering Vision’s maintenance to beating him in a drinking contest,” she warns.

“I’ll be back later,” Peter cuts in, realizing that if he doesn’t do it now, he might not get another chance, and Vision’s waiting. “Try not to kill each other, please.”

“At least he’s getting out of the house,” Pepper sighs when her son’s gone.

Peter decides to walk because it isn’t that far and he’s out of practice driving anyway. Plus, they don’t currently own anything less ostentatious than a fully-electric Bugatti concept car―that’s just including the cars his dad hasn’t installed hand controls in to accommodate his needs as a paraplegic―and besides visiting Vision, heading to the Park makes him think of Michelle and her assumptions of him being a spoiled brat. Pulling into their driveway behind the wheel of a flashy, technically-not-for-sale sports car wouldn’t help his cause. If he even had one, which he doesn’t because he doesn’t care what she thinks. Whatever, he’s coming to see what he can do for Vision, so he doesn’t want to trigger a confrontation.

His arrival does provoke a response―Brad and Michelle are surprised that he walked over instead of driving. He really can’t win. They’re polite enough though. Then Wanda’s friendliness makes her housemates look awful, putting Peter in a good mood. Politeness can be faked by any asshole politician (and Peter’s met his fair share, as Tony’s son), but the kind of warmth Wanda gives off like radiation (Peter knows about that too) is rare. He relaxes at the thought that Vision’s probably been suffering less thanks to her presence alone.

The reasons Michelle doesn’t say much are, one, precedent, and two, because the wintery chill has given Peter’s face an eye-catching flush.

Peter asks Wanda about Vision, even though he’d rather go straight to him. If Vision really believes that something about her powers can help him, Peter’s willing to give it a chance too. It’s possible that she can sense his workings differently than he can, looking from the outside. Vision’s never been to a doctor, obviously, and Peter thinks it’s kind of cool that being assisted by Wanda might be similar.

Apparently, Vision’s completely overloaded, trying to process too much at once, and it’s manifesting like a migraine. That much Peter can follow. When Wanda starts getting into specifics about his energy signature and how she’s been reaching into his mind to lessen the discomfort―moving closer to magic and away from science―Peter figures she knows what she’s talking about and he better just see his brother for himself.

Luckily, the Park’s big enough for spare bedrooms on the third floor, which is where Vision’s lying down. It’s homier than the workshop setup they have at the compound and, when Peter realizes he can’t do much besides keep Vision company, he thanks Wanda sincerely for her help and settles down in the dark room.

Wanda insists on making dinner when evening comes and, though she sticks with a simple omelette because her mind’s on Vision’s condition and what else she might attempt for him, it goes over well with her brother, her best friend, and their guest.

Peter notices that it’s not so bad, getting along with Michelle and Brad, because they do actually seem to care about Vision. Like driving, any type of conversation beyond formal-party-small-talk is something he’s out of practice with, but he doesn’t find himself struggling. The renovations to the professional kitchen on the first floor, below where they’re eating, look really good―not that Peter knows what the Park looked like before, since he doesn’t dig through the real estate site every morning like his obsessive dad―and Wanda’s happy to be asked about them. She tells Peter that telekinesis really comes in handy for moving large appliances into position, and saves on paying for installation.

The greatest shock of the evening is Brad offering to drive Peter back to the compound; the sun set hours ago, which wasn’t something Peter took into account when he decided to walk. However, when he looks in on Vision again, his brother―away from Wanda’s hearing―confesses that he’ll feel better if Peter stays. Peter gets it. Sometimes he wakes up in the middle of the night and can’t remember where he is, what really happened and what didn’t. On the nights when it takes a minute to puzzle the last few years back together, the knowledge that there’s someone on his side nearby, protecting him from potential attack, is soothing.

Peter’s explaining, still trying to word it right even as he talks, but Wanda understands and invites him to stay over. The last thing he does before hitting the hay in the spare room next to Vision’s is call home and have his mom send a drone over with some clothes.

The next day, Peter divides his time between sitting with his brother (not that fun because Vision has his eyes shut in a meditative state as he works through his internal confusion) and hanging with Wanda in her kitchen. It’s a work day for employed people―Peter isn’t one of those―but Wanda’s cool about letting him check out the deep pantry she’s begun to stock, and even flip up to cling to the ceiling as he wipes a smudge from the brushed steel of the massive hood over the restaurant’s double stove.

On her breaks between weighing quotes from printing shops on doing her menus, calls to triple check her license to serve alcohol, and extensive research into the warrantee on some piece of equipment that arrived broken, Wanda takes the time to look in on Vision with Peter. Her... whatever it is that she does with her hands... has an obvious calming effect on his brother. And it’s kind of mesmerizing. In exchange, Wanda explains to Peter some of the details of setting up her restaurant. He doesn’t really get how it’s an exchange, since it seems like she’s doing something for him by helping his brother and by low-key coaching him in business, but Wanda seems to view being allowed to work with Vision as a favour. Doesn’t make sense to Peter, but it’s awesome that she’s so thankful to be spending time with Vision.

That morning, Brad said a bunch of nice things about Vision in a row, hoping he was improving, then promptly forgot about him and went right back to his schoolwork―he’s doing online courses, working towards a Masters in something Peter doesn’t ask him about. Peter plans to continue disliking him, whatever his brother says. Brad just isn’t genuine. Over the course of the day, whenever Brad isn’t on his laptop or highlighting a textbook, he’s attempting to drag Michelle into conversation.

When Peter goes to Vision’s temporary bedroom so the two of them can call home and consult with Tony, Brad begins to openly bad-mouth Peter to MJ. Mostly what a pain in the ass it is to have him there and how boring he is compared to the people Brad knew at college or even back in New York City.

“The only thing he has over us is the ability to tolerate this fucking cold,” Brad concludes, reminding his sister and MJ aloud about how Peter had appeared red-faced but lively at their door. “Kind of his signature colour though, right? Should’ve worn the suit, then at least we wouldn’t have had to watch his face thaw.”

“I don’t even remember that,” Wanda says, still half-focused on her work, having brought her laptop into the living room to be with her housemates while Peter’s keeping Vision company. “I was just thinking about how relieved Vision would be to see him. I’m sure he feels like he’s burdening us.”

Brad tries to exchange a _duh, he is_ look with MJ, but she won’t let him catch her eye.

“I’m sure _you_ noticed, Miss Observant,” Brad prods, trying to get her attention with words instead.

MJ just sighs and keeps doodling on the pad propped on her knees.

“What you saw was Peter helping his brother,” Wanda counters gently. She laughs. “Would you make fun of me if I did that for you?”

But Brad doesn’t want to make comparisons. He’s trying to find Peter as unrelatable and irritating as possible, and he’s a little pissed that MJ isn’t jumping on this with him. Feeling ignored, he goes after her again.

“I hope those eyes didn’t look too much less ‘powerful’ with the rest of his face looking like a strawberry,” Brad teases.

“If anything,” she says, intent on her paper, “they stood out more because the wind made them water a little.”

He can’t say anything for a minute, just deepens the crease in the dog-ear he’s made on the page of his textbook.

“Vision’s nice enough, but the Starks are never going to have an easy time. They’re essentially already exiles. As if they’d really live out here full time―willingly!―if they didn’t figure people hated them for the Snap. People probably still kiss up to them because of their money, but they’re basically fucked as far as making anything like real friends. Failing the entire universe? Pretty problematic.”

“Yeah,” MJ agrees abstractedly. “I’m assuming Morgan gets some kind of homeschooling to keep her away from that. Probably everyone the Starks know is either a suck-up or another superhero.”

That revives Brad enough that he’s able to be nice to Peter when he returns to have lunch with them. He can even keep it up because the meal is fairly quiet (due to each person’s concern for Vision or disinterest in maintaining a conversation). When they’re done, and although it’s still cold as shit out, Brad invites Peter to throw a football around.

“Nah,” Peter declines, “I think I’ll just read something. Wanda mentioned earlier that she has quite a few physics books.”

“Occupational hazard when your biology is more or less a scientific phenomenon you’re still trying to understand.”

“No kidding,” Peter agrees, bumping Wanda’s fist and sharing her sly smile.

“You’d really rather read?” Brad checks when his sister brings Peter a thick hardcover on theoretical physics. While Brad classes himself with the nerds over the jocks (he still does this, years out of high school), he isn’t unathletic. And Spider-Man obviously isn’t either. “Won’t you go stir-crazy without a tall building to climb?”

“Well, I’ve been away from skyscrapers for over a year and the separation anxiety hasn’t kicked in yet,” Peter replies dryly as he peruses the table of contents.

“Wow, so I guess it’s like a relief to you not to have to do any of that stuff anymore,” Brad says. It’s a clear dig, but Peter’s sarcasm rubbed him the wrong way.

“Yes, it is nice that people’s lives are generally less at risk since I helped destroy Thanos and his army,” he replies lightly, flipping a page.

“Taking care of Vision must remind you of how valuable your help is,” Wanda says pleasantly. “He’ll be back to normal soon, I think, thanks in part to the comfort you’ve given him by coming.”

Peter stumbles over his thank-you; Wanda always manages to give him compliments he doesn’t think he deserves. And she gives them out so freely.

“I hope that one’s interesting to you,” she says, pointing at the book open on his lap. “My collection shrunk when we moved. I don’t have as much time to read them anymore, since I’m trying to get the restaurant going.”

“This looks great!” Peter assures her.

“You should see the library MJ has at her place.” Brad brags like it’s his, puffed up with the conviction that Peter will _never_ have this privilege.

“It’s easy to buy books when there’s almost nothing else I’m interested in owning,” MJ says with a shrug.

Brad sees how excluded Peter is from this conversation and drives it further into talk of MJ’s home, her books, her wisdom in having a home filled with books. He encourages his sister to buy more books for their home, so they can model MJ. Aiming for the jugular (wisdom, when it comes to MJ), Brad flatters her taste in books and the amount she reads. Peter couldn’t get a word in even if wanted to, which Brad hopes he doesn’t, hopes he feels intimidated and shut out by how well Brad obviously knows MJ, and how small a chance Peter would ever have to.

“How’s Monica doing?” he checks. It’s another personal part of MJ’s life. He’s showing off, flaunting to Peter how close the two of them are.

“Uh, she’s good,” MJ says, reluctantly looking up from her drawing pad.

“Your cousin is the coolest person I’ve ever met. Like, just the nicest,” Brad summarizes. Peter’s face isn’t worth a glance. “She still flying ops?”

“No, Monica’s instructing now.” MJ adds a stroke to her sketch and looks up again. “She’s planning a trip to visit me when she has leave.”

“Skiing?”

“Maybe.”

“It’s amazing, how many things she’s good at,” Wanda says, clearly in awe.

MJ shakes her head, confused.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, you’re kind of a Renaissance woman yourself,” she points out. “You have supernatural abilities, you speak multiple languages, you cook, you’re learning to run a business. If you want to see amazing, Wanda, seriously, look in the mirror.”

Wanda downplays this with a sweep of her hand.

“Peter probably knows many enhanced people with far more skills than I have.”

“I doubt it’s that common,” MJ argues before Peter can weigh in. “You have talents in different areas, not just different... I don’t know... combat styles. You’re too nice. Very few people are on your level.”

“Oh, and you’ve studied them all, have you?” Wanda jokes with a grin.

“Yes. I’m very observant.”

She might actually be kidding, but Peter can’t tell. It’s kinda disconcerting. Then again, he is in her home and she can’t possibly give off a brooding, Eat the Rich attitude 24/7. Can she?

“It’s true,” Brad says, verbally shouldering back into the conversation to take MJ’s side. Not that she seems to be looking for or in need of his help. “People are mostly underwhelming. They’re good at maybe one thing, like, _just_ the powers,” he says meaningfully, glancing at Peter as his mouth lifts into a smirk. “Not that those are really a skill on their own, unless you develop them. Like you have, Wanda.”

Peter’s starting to get ticked off. He’s trying really, _really_ hard not to show it and just be polite like Pepper’s taught him, but this asshole is pushing his buttons. It’s too glaring a reminder of his early years coming into his powers. The crushing burden of doubt, how sure Peter was that he was nothing without Spider-Man. Of course, this dick doesn’t know that, he’s just happened to stumble onto something that makes Peter itch for his web-shooters to glue this guy’s mouth shut.

“If powers mean so little,” Peter says, narrowly keeping his voice under control, “what are the skills that count for anything?”

“Well, culture, obviously.” Brad answers quickly, but he’s glancing at MJ for approval she won’t lift her gaze from her drawing to provide. “Appreciation, understanding, and participation in culture. Which is pretty tough,” he says with disgustingly fake sympathy, “when you live so far from the city. It’s not just what you learn, but how you absorb it into the way you present yourself.”

He pushes his shoulders back automatically and Peter almost laughs at him. Brad and Michelle and their absurd expectations. When having money affords you the opportunity to become more cultured by going to a good school, attending prestigious events, and visiting the Met as often as you want, you’re a snob. But if you don’t _act_ like a snob, despite having fewer advantages, you’re a cultureless dork?

“Reading,” MJ adds. Brad looks ready to jump out a window at how disappointed he is in himself for forgetting to suck up. “Reading’s important too. More than anything else. If you aren’t well-read, what’s the point?”

“What’s the point of what?” Peter wonders―aloud, apparently. Oops. At least his tone isn’t as scathing as it sounded in his head before he said it.

“Of being in the _world_ ,” she says, suddenly locking eyes with him. It’s a lot, the emphatic delivery and the sudden stare and Peter tries not to flinch. “I don’t know how people understand each other, and more important stuff, without books.”

He does manage to prevent himself from asking her if she considers herself an expert on understanding other people, which definitely would’ve been delivered with sarcasm, considering how badly she misjudged Peter the very first time they met. Maybe he’ll remember to tell Ned later. He’ll get it.

“I don’t know,” Peter counters mildly. “I’ve never really seen anyone wandering around looking super enlightened because of how much they read. Or how well they’ve assimilated a certain amount of culture. I don’t think most people are that intentional about it. We’re just sort of going from one day to the next.”

Brad argues immediately, because of _course_ he knows loads of people like what he and MJ have described. Peter wants to ask if ‘hipsters’ would be the correct term. The fact that the label’s a little outdated makes it even better. He’s smiling to himself just thinking about it, keeping the thought sealed behind his lips. When Brad starts running out of steam, Peter leaves the room without having responded. The bad guys he used to take on while he was still on the Spidey beat liked to talk a lot too. Brad isn’t significant enough to be a full-blown villain, but Peter guesses a shithead is kind of a lesser villain, so that works.

“Peter just wants to talk about other people like they’re idiots to make himself look better,” Brad snorts. “Huh, MJ? Don’t you think? Pretty low for a former superhero.”

He’s particularly snide on the word ‘former.’

“Probably,” she allows. Though she kept her eyes on her paper through most of the discussion, she wasn’t really able to focus while Peter was in the room. Now, her concentration’s coming back. “Though some people can make themselves look like idiots all on their own.”

This remark confuses Brad. Uncertain how to continue cutting Peter down to size behind his back, he’s forced to return to his readings.

Peter comes back to the living room under a minute later for Wanda; Vision’s visibly struggling and his brother hopes Wanda can help him through it. She dashes to the spare room without a second thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm, looks like Vision isn't ready to head home quite yet. Our source material has Lizzie (Peter) and Darcy (MJ) stuck together at Netherfield Park a while longer as Jane (Vision) recovers... Plenty of butting heads and growing attraction in the next couple of chapters! Thoughts about the little hint of MJ's background in this one?
> 
> Hope everyone's had a lovely new year and that you're ready to get back into this _P &P_ AU! Thanks for reading!


	5. Park Dynamics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "'But people themselves alter so much, that there is something new to be observed in them for ever.'" - _Pride and Prejudice_ , ch. 9

By late afternoon, with Vision better pain-wise, but not up to going home because all of his energy is turned inwards, Peter calls their dad for his opinion. He’s hoping it’s been long enough now that Tony will quit the scheming and offer something useful. In his typical fashion of putting showmanship before appropriateness, Tony rolls up to the Park in a blazing red convertible. (It’s winter.) Harley and Morgan come tumbling out of the back, while Nebula exits stiltedly from the passenger seat. The look on her face says she’s still trying to figure out why there isn’t a roof on the vehicle.

If Tony thought he was causing his eldest son more than mild distress, he would never have sent him off to hang out with Brad yesterday. If he thought, now that Vision’s stuck here, that his son is in severe pain or an unrecoverable technological nosedive, he’d go ripping back down the driveway with Vision so fast that he’d probably forget the rest of his kids. What Tony sees, when he heads up (he wore the exoskeleton braces, anticipating stairs) to the spare bedroom Wanda points him to, is Vision quietly rejuvenating. It fills him with satisfaction. His smile widens when he backs out of the room to find Wanda still waiting in the hall, having been checking on Vision herself over Tony’s shoulder. Yep, things are coming along. Tony’s selflessly (...ok, _and_ selfishly) glad that Vision hasn’t bounced back completely yet. It means he can leave him here a little longer. To _recover_. If his son happens to grow closer to Wanda, given the evident Florence Nightingale thing she has going on, then great. Back-slapping to all involved.

Fortunately, Wanda agrees with Tony on Vision needing a little more time to rest. They talk shop―magic and mechanics, the usual―for a few minutes before heading down to the living room. Brad, Michelle, and the rest of the Stark kids are waiting in the kind of oppressively incessant silence that follows awkward attempts at conversation.

Settling into her place on one of the couches and tucking her feet up under her, Wanda states to the room how happy she is that the family’s finding Vision in good shape.

“But not good _enough_ ,” Tony adds hastily, raising an objecting finger. “I think even one more night here would be the best thing. For Vision’s sake.”

“We would never make him feel like he had to leave,” Wanda insists. “Brad―” She glances at her brother for support. “―we’re glad we can help, aren’t we?”

Brad nods and Tony narrows his eyes. He might be tempted to call this guy out on his lack of enthusiasm (does no one know how to _lie_ anymore? Come on, Brad, a little more convincing.) if he wasn’t presently beholden to the household for sheltering Vision. Even if this jerk hasn’t made much of a contribution to the cause.

“Thank you, guys, really.” Tony’s sincere, at least in the part of that thanks he addressed towards Wanda. “We knew we lucked out when you moved into the neighbourhood, but...” He whistles. “...you’re going above and beyond. Vision, you know, not a big complainer. The strong, silent type. It’s really pretty momentous that he’s let you in, Wanda.”

She’s not quite flustered, gracefully pleased.

“Wow,” Tony goes on, stretching his arms across the back of the couch behind his kids, “you’ve spruced the place up. I saw it before―just in pictures―and it’s really coming together. Nice spot. Nice, uh, trees,” he says, running out of words as he stumbles into the trap of complimenting their landscaping, a subject that couldn’t bore him more. “You’re gonna stay out here, aren’t you? Keep living here once the restaurant’s up and running?”

“I can’t imagine leaving,” Wanda professes as the others look on. “Then sometimes, I miss the city. I don’t know if you know this, Mr. Stark―”

“Please, Tony.”

“― _Tony_ , but Brad and I left Sokovia as refugees. There’s a feeling,” she explains, rolling her hands together without filling her palms with that red glow, “of wanting to make a home, and yet, at the same time, an instinct to run.” Wanda glances down, notices her hands, and presses them flat to her thighs. “Brad probably thinks I’m crazy,” she shoots an affectionate smile in her brother’s direction and he makes an effort to look less put-upon about having visitors. “He was still young when we left and he’s adapted better than I have. It’s a fear I’m still working my way through.”

“I think we can all relate to that,” Peter, sitting across from her in an armchair, interjects kindly.

Wanda laughs self-deprecatingly.

“I can tell you didn’t mean it like this, but when you say that, of course it’s obvious that everyone on earth ― _farther_ , even―has experienced that kind of fear.”

“That doesn’t mean what happened to you matters less,” Peter assures her quietly. She smiles.

“I can see how you did what you did,” Wanda says. “Protecting your neighbourhood as Spider-Man. You’re naturally sympathetic. It’s a gift.”

“Being naturally sympathetic is sort of what you do too,” he points out. “In a different way. Like, you understand something in Vision, and that’s how you help him.”

She seems pleased.

“I suppose that’s true.”

“You probably get sick of your family,” Michelle chimes in, then shrugs. “It’s hard to get along with the same people all the time and I’d think you’d lose your sympathy for them after a while. Doesn’t living here, I don’t know, suppress your natural urges?”

She and Peter lock eyes for a second, before they both hastily look away.

“To help people,” she clarifies.

“They might get on my nerves sometimes,” Peter replies, sharing a playful look with Harley, “but I don’t think having sympathy for other people is... isn’t not like... I’ve never felt like I was, I don’t know, using it up? People change, so it’s never the same parts of them I’m reacting to, and not with the same parts of me. If that makes sense.”

“In other words,” Tony cuts in bombastically, “Peter’s family is hopeless enough that he has his hands full without the entire population of New York City to worry about too.”

Wanda, Harley, and Morgan laugh. Michelle’s quiet, head turned away from the Stark she considers to have the biggest ego by far. Does he really need to inflate it more by belittling her point? What a perve, she thinks, stroking that ego in front of them all.

“Cities burn you out,” Tony continues.

“Or you burn them down,” Michelle mumbles under her breath.

“We love it out here, Upstate, don’t you, Wanda?”

“Objectively, yes,” she agrees easily. “I guess I’d call this my favourite place while we’re living here, but I know I said exactly the same in NYC.” She laughs at herself. “Nothing’s Sokovia. With home out of the picture, I can’t choose a favourite place, or a least favourite.”

“Well, you’re good at making friends,” Tony suggests. “That makes it easier to get along wherever you land. Not everybody has that advantage, which can make life in the ’burbs tough.” He looks a little too obviously at Michelle and, though he doesn’t exactly want to stand up for her, Peter’s embarrassed by his dad making sly comments right in front of someone clearly intelligent enough to know what’s going on. He’s viscerally uncomfortable.

“I don’t think Michelle was saying anything against living Upstate. Or around here specifically,” Peter says quickly. “Just that there’s less people. Which is true.”

“Not at the compound,” Tony argues. “We manage to cram people in like sardines, and that’s with an exclusive guest list. I’d say we see more people now than we did when we were in the city.”

Peter sighs at how combative his dad’s being, wanting to groan that he should give it a rest. What stops him is that Michelle’s obviously already decided they’re on opposite sides, so Peter feels that he owes Tony his loyalty.

Brad’s not feeling weird about this at all; he’s staring at MJ, fucking _thrilled_ , by her honesty. Thrilled because it’s entertaining for him. The fact that she’s always honest, always expresses her opinion... that doesn’t matter as much. He just wants to see Stark taken down a peg. Wanda, perpetually tactful, won’t jump in to mediate. That would only elevate this backhanded exchange. She won’t give it that power.

Unable to say nothing and let this play itself out (because he knows his father at least will not be the one to concede charitably), Peter asks about Ned. He’s used to hanging with his best friend almost daily and he’s missed him, stranded here, trying not to punch Brad in the head. His good intentions at diverting attention from the near-argument are almost immediately punished.

“Ned’s a great kid. I love Ned,” Tony professes to their hosts. “You met him. Not as bright as my kids, but fun to talk to.”

Besides being instantly furious that his dad would say that about his guy in the chair, Peter’s hurting for Ned, not here to defend himself. It isn’t even true.

“Oh,” says Wanda, clearly thrown. “Yes, I met Ned at your event. I thought he was very sharp, and hilarious.”

“Sure,” Tony nods, “but the kid’s naivety is like a physical presence. He went through school with Peter, they got the same education, so I have to conclude that Ned’s just naturally a little less with it. I’m not bragging, because the best parts of my kids are all Pepper, but I do have to point out that Vision’s mind is essentially a supercomputer. Beyond that. You put anybody up against Vision, it’s not a fair comparison. I can’t quote Shakespeare anymore,” Tony adds with a laugh like humility. “Vision’s got the entire First Folio up here.” He taps his temple.

“Not that being an expert on Shakespeare is that useful for making friends. Which Ned’s amazing at,” Peter brags, finally able to come to his best friend’s defense. “If anything,” he rambles, staring intently at the floor and unable to shut up, “quoting Shakespeare makes you look like an asshole.”

“Why?” It’s Michelle’s voice and Peter’s head snaps up. “In his time, Shakespeare was one of the people. Sure, he wrote about kings and shit, but that was for people’s amusement. They wanted to know about those unreachable levels of their society and Shakespeare exposed and villainized them as much as he presented them as aspirational. And,” she goes on, “he wrote some incredibly complex character in lower class circumstances as well. Miranda, Viola, Perdita! Do you know how difficult it is to find modern literature that hasn’t been influenced by Shakespeare? If anything, _not_ knowing Shakespeare makes you look like an asshole, because what Shakespeare did for the world was reveal us to ourselves and each other.”

Michelle’s the one who went on an impassioned rant (which she’s currently looking slightly startled to realize), but it’s Peter whose heart is beating faster and he doesn’t know why. It isn’t anger, even though she kind of might have called him an asshole in a roundabout way.

She seems to make up her mind on how she feels about her abrupt speech, because she smiles and Peter’s heart palpitations only get worse when their eyes meet. He should say something, but he’s got nothing ready on his tongue and even less in his head.

Unsurprisingly, Tony’s the first person to surrender to the impulse to speak. Mercifully, all he does is thank Wanda again for the care she’s shown Vision, who was absolutely not hers to look after. (He can’t possibly believe that, Peter knows, since he’s the one who foisted Vision on Wanda in the first place.) Wanda’s gracious―probably the most gracious person Peter’s ever been in contact with, and even if they _were_ in the city and he _was_ around more people, he’s fairly certain it would still be true―and Brad follows suit. Not quite as authentically, but whatever. His dickishness is well established in Peter’s eyes by now.

Tony smoothly excuses himself and the three kids he dragged along; Peter can tell he’s aching and eager to get back to the compound for medication and a scheduled physiotherapy appointment. Soft couches do that to his dad sometimes―accelerate the pain that’s always only at bay, waiting to scream back up his spine.

It isn’t possible for them to exit without any more fuss though. It wouldn’t be _Stark_ of them, is the shameful truth. Apparently, it’s time for Peter to find out what Harley and Morgan were whispering about that was engrossing enough to miss the more dramatic moments of the afternoon’s conversation.

Harley, more than twice Morgan’s age and therefore the elected representative to speak on the pair’s behalf, is the one to remind Wanda that she mentioned an event for the restaurant’s opening. As far as Peter remembers, the words ‘open house’ were used, but the way Harley describes it―skewing the memory with his own preferences―Wanda promised something more like a party. A big one.

The biologically firstborn Stark child (though they all acknowledge Vision as a big brother, regardless of his creation date), Harley had a full year to absorb Tony’s... Tonyness before Peter was born. Thus, he’s his father’s clone in a lot of ways, a number of which are traits that thrive in a party environment. He’s definitely never been shy at coming out and asking for (or wheedling for) what he wants. On this occasion, Harley also isn’t remiss in informing Wanda that it would be embarrassing for her if she didn’t plan a large event. Bad for the restaurant. Etcetera.

Tony, who loves his son’s idea (shocker), loves Wanda’s answer even more.

“Of course I will,” she pledges. “I really want to announce it to the neighbourhood to give us the best possible chance. Pepper has very kindly been emailing me tips and contact information for some of the people she works with for your events. Once Vision’s feeling better, I’ll get things underway. The kitchen’s nearly ready, but I wouldn’t want to do anything if he couldn’t attend.”

She’s given herself away a little and Peter smiles companionably at her so she doesn’t feel vulnerable.

“That’s true. I wouldn’t want Vision not to be there,” Harley grants. “We might find more guests for you too, in the meantime. I was reading this thread on Twitter―”

Tony considers the point about the opening made and hustles Harley (plus Morgan and an intensely bored Nebula―she’s been formulating plans to roundhouse kick the heads off all the combat dummies in the gym when they get home) to the car. At their departure, Peter, who by unspoken agreement will continue to be the family member at Vision’s side, goes up to see his brother in the spare room.

That leaves the Park’s more acerbic residents to discuss the barely-concluded visit. Unfortunately for Brad, he loses his snarking companion when MJ fails to verbally bash Peter, though Brad tries again and again to entice her into it with heavy-handed comments about powerful eyes.

* * *

Peter’s restless all evening and night. Making an appearance at a Stark Industries function is one thing, but constantly being in the company of his neighbours is another. He’s anxious, half-wishing he’d just gone back to the compound with his dad and his siblings that afternoon. There isn’t anything he specifically misses about being at home, just the opportunity to make himself small and tuck himself away and not acknowledge the world for a while. Sometimes, when the stress of his experiences catch up to him, Peter wants to be no one. He wants his slate wiped clean. Existing in this house, knowing that at least one of the people in it is definitely talking about him whenever he leaves the room (thanks, enhanced hearing, you relentless bastard) is a burden.

He sleeps after Vision basically orders him to; apparently, Peter wasn’t being as sneaky as he thought every time he peeped in on his brother to ensure there was no cringing in pain or temple-massaging. When he wakes up the next day, he’s still fidgety, but the anxiety and paranoia behind it are gone. It snowed a little overnight and Peter slips out to shovel the Park’s long driveway while his hosts are distractedly wrapping up their staggered lunchtimes. The bite of the air, the monotone scrape of the shovel, and the repetitive motion of tossing scoops of snow into growing heaps help a lot.

When Peter goes back in, face flushed and waving off Wanda’s _oh, Peter, you didn’t have to do that_ as he shakes out of his jacket, his eyes land accidentally (inevitably) on Michelle. She has a presence without needing to make a sound and he has to remember that he doesn’t like her very much, that she’s kind of a jerk whenever she _does_ say something. Instead of a drawing pad, there’s a laptop perched on her folded legs. Brad seems to be back on his bullshit of doing the utmost to get her attention. Wanda’s gone downstairs to the restaurant’s dining room, supervising the hanging of the artwork―one of the finishing touches. Without her smile as a buffer, Peter detours to the bathroom just to roll his eyes about Brad, then returns.

One thoughtful thing his dad did yesterday was bring Peter his tablet, so he tries to occupy himself with all his usual paths to temporary oblivion: emailing his mom about her meeting schedule, adding to the list of apparatuses he’d like to get for his chemistry lab, and, in a rare moment of assurance that he isn’t about to tip his internal equilibrium towards disaster, fiddling around with a purely-conceptual Spidey suit design. He doesn’t dive into any of these pursuits in a consuming way, leaving him free to be... not exactly entertained by... the back-and-forth between Brad and Michelle.

“I bet Monica can’t wait to hear about this place,” Brad tells her. “About time you emailed her back.”

Michelle keeps typing, apparently responding to Monica, but not to Brad. Peter has to fight off a smile as he digitally weaves an altered design across the Spidey suit’s shoulders.

“You type _so_ fast.”

“No, not really.”

“I guess you send a lot of emails though, right? Submitting your cartoons to different periodicals. That must get tedious,” Brad observes sympathetically, laying his arm along the back of the couch. Peter glances up in time to see Michelle deliberately lean forward so that it won’t brush against her.

“Lucky for both of us that the emails aren’t your responsibility. It’s vital for my career that I know how to pitch my work.”

“Tell Monica I can’t wait to pick her brain about those new fighter jets they announced on the news.”

“I added that when you told me the first time,” Michelle replies flatly.

Brad’s silent for a few minutes, visibly cooking up his next mundane comment. Peter wonders how Michelle manages to relax in between (she doesn’t look bothered) because _his_ teeth are on edge knowing the chance that Brad’s done is almost nonexistent. Sure enough...

“Just tell Monica I say congratulations on becoming an instructor,” Brad pleads. “And that she’s my idol.”

“Devoting enough of this email to do your fangirling justice would take more time than I have right now.” She says it matter-of-factly, eyes never straying from the screen, fingers always typing. Peter might not like her, but he admires her focus.

“Don’t worry about it,” Brad says lightly, as if Michelle had been worried for even a moment. He throws himself back against the couch, no longer leaning sideways to try to read her screen. “I’m sure we’ll see her around. You said she’s taking time off soon.” Like he can’t help himself, he glances at Michelle’s email once more. “Do you always send her such long emails, MJ?”

She sighs, angling her laptop away from him.

“Usually. It’s better to write long emails infrequently than pointless, insipid emails all the time. Monica’s job is demanding. She doesn’t have time for that.”

Wanda walks in, dragging down the bunched-up sleeves of her sweater and looking relieved to have another box on her pre-opening checklist ticked off. She and Peter exchange smiles in greeting before she sits on the arm of the couch closest to her brother.

“Anybody who flies through long emails like you do is an incredible writer,” Brad declares, still watching Michelle. Peter switches windows on his tablet, opening a new email from his mom about her agenda for the next local council meeting.

“Flies through them?” Wanda gasps. “That doesn’t sound like the MJ _I_ know. She only types fast to get all of her points down, then she consults a thesaurus to help her say all the same stuff in more sophisticated terms.” She laughs, but it isn’t mocking. “I’m so impulsive compared to you,” Wanda says, addressing her best friend now, because Michelle’s looked up. “Everything you do is a masterpiece.”

“Different disciplines,” Michelle says with a shrug. “If you took longer when you cooked, you’d burn everything.”

“I don’t know how Wanda doesn’t burn _herself_ ,” Brad interjects with the first genuine-sounding concern Peter’s ever heard in the guy’s voice. He obviously cares about his sister. “Especially when she rearranges hot pans on the stove with telekinesis. I can’t even watch that.”

“Cooking is about trusting your senses,” Wanda insists. “With this...” She rolls red light around the back of her hand like she’s balancing a balloon. Peter finds it mesmerizing, the casual display of her powers. “...it’s just another sense. As long as I can feel my way through it, I’m not hung up on precision.”

“‘Just another sense,’” Peter repeats, awed. He laughs and sets his tablet flat on his lap. “That’s a pretty humble definition for something so amazing.”

“Modesty makes me suspicious,” Michelle states. Peter figures she must feel strongly about it to bother drawing their attention again now that Brad’s finally _not_ talking at her. “Beware the humblebrag.”

“Is that what I was doing, MJ?” Wanda laughs.

She frowns for a minute.

“Yes. You know damn well that your enhancements are an advantage. They give you skills that no other cook can be taught, and they make you―sorry for the word choice―a novelty. Restaurants open all the time, so it’s hard to get anyone to care. _You_ opening a restaurant is interesting to people. It means patronage and a Michelin star and a feature in _Bon Appétit_ magazine. And you can’t tell me that you won’t be mentioning your abilities, both natural and supernatural, when someone hands you an opportunity. You have something that sets you apart and I know you too well to think that you wouldn’t use it.”

“Doesn’t that just back up what Wanda was saying about trusting her senses?” Peter asks, scooting forward in his seat. “If anything, you’re bragging more on her behalf than she ever did.”

Wanda’s laughing again and gives Peter an acknowledging nod.

“Nice of you to turn MJ’s character study into a compliment, but I believe it was intended as a criticism. I know her just as well as she knows me,” Wanda assures him, wagging a finger at Michelle (who rolls her eyes), “which is why I’m certain that, in my position, MJ would keep her powers a secret, her head down, and let her work speak for itself. That’s what she’d want me to do if it weren’t already too late. Too many people have heard of me by now.”

“Then,” Peter says, face heating a little to be discussing the motives of someone sitting _right_ there, “how do you think Michelle feels about you understanding her advice and doing what you want anyway?”

“Oh, she’d never tell me,” Wanda promises with a smile. “You’d have to get it out of her yourself.”

“She put words in my mouth,” Michelle protests, lifting her head to join the conversation again. “Even if that was how I felt, I’d never tell her who to notify about her powers or what to do with them. Your interpretation is actually the best one, Peter―” His head jerks to look at her, startled to hear his name come out of her mouth. “―because all you really assumed is that I support Wanda and believe in her abilities. That’s true.”

“And I bet she knows that,” he says, “which is part of the reason she feels like she can do things her own way. Right, Wanda?” She nods. “So you _are_ influencing her even if you think you aren’t. Even when you’re trying not to,” Peter adds.

“Also because she’s tall,” Wanda offers.

“What?” Peter means to ask, but the question leaves Michelle’s mouth first.

“You’re taller than me,” Wanda tells her best friend with a laugh. “The fact that you’re five years younger doesn’t matter because I respect you for your height.”

“Hopefully not _just_ for my height,” Michelle deadpans.

“If you were shorter, I’d feel much freer to tell you every time you were being unreasonable.”

Peter’s across from her with a coffee table in between, but when Michelle smiles subtly at her friend, he has the electric sense that she’s maybe kind of insulted. It feels like it takes a week’s worth of self-control not to laugh; he really wants to know if Wanda considers the night of the Stark Industries benefit to be one of the times Michelle was unreasonable.

“You know, you’re only ever mean when you’re trying to end an argument,” Brad reveals to his sister, wedging his elbow under her thigh as he pretends he’s going to shove her off the arm of the couch.

“I don’t know about the mean part,” Wanda says with raised eyebrows, “but of course I’d rather we didn’t argue. That includes you two.” She points at Michelle and Peter in turn.

He holds up his hands, then grabs his tablet to look busy.

“No problem. I think Michelle’s trying to finish her email anyway.”

She does, without thanking Peter―or Wanda, for that matter―for the restoration of silence to the living room. The second she’s done, Brad gets up and puts music on. Peter figures, if he was as much of an asshole as Brad, he wouldn’t want to sit with his own thoughts either.

Probably because Pepper has a Mom Sense for being aware that her son needs something to occupy his hands and brain while he’s still at the Park, Peter sees that she’s emailed him some company-related busywork. It’s a press release and he’s darting his eyes from the document to the list of things she asked him to check it for when he looks up the first time since starting the task and sees Michelle watching him. Peter decides it’s nothing, just her gaze drifting after concentrating for so long on her laptop. Happens to him all the time. That’s a rational explanation until he catches her looking at him every time he lifts his head. _Every_ time. It raises his hackles, like that day in Ned’s basement when Michelle was always standing closer than he was prepared for.

Peter smoothes his hair down in case it’s messed up from being outside. Then, he takes a peek at the buttons of his shirt to make sure he hasn’t misaligned them. Nope. He can’t believe Michelle’s looking at him because she’s still thinking about something he said. He can’t remember saying anything that was either impressive or stupid enough to make her continue to consider it. In the past, he’s assumed she was staring at him to gather fuel for future criticisms, but that seems extreme to him now, that Michelle would waste her time on him just because of their established mutual aversion.

If what she’s doing, instead of any of those things, is staring at Peter because, out of the few people in this room, she can find the most wrong with him, well... He isn’t bothered by that so much as he wants to remind her that she’s sitting next to Brad, who, distracted as he scrolls through the song selection on his phone, makes an ideal target for critique.

Once Peter’s compiled these possibilities, he really doesn’t care anymore and actually manages to forget about Michelle sitting over there, until she’s suddenly beside his chair, casting an uncertain glance in his direction. He drops his tablet on his lap and looks up at her.

“Almost makes you want to dance,” she remarks, jerking her head towards the sound system. Apparently, Brad’s into Lorde.

“Uhhh...” Peter’s not sure how to respond.

Because Brad was in the process of raising the volume, Michelle seems to assume Peter missed what she said and repeats herself.

“No, I heard you,” he says. “I just didn’t know what kind of reply you were looking for. If I said ‘yeah,’ you’d probably think my taste in music is basic. I’m not really here to get made fun of, so I’m gonna say no. Sorry if that screws up your chance to mock me,” Peter concludes confrontationally.

“You’re forgiven,” Michelle says with a slight smirk, and wanders back to her seat.

Ok, now Peter’s even more confused than he was when she was just staring at him. How could talking make this worse? He thought she was trying to trap him into saying something embarrassing―or remind him of the waltzing she was so snide about―so he went on the offensive, only to have her react playfully!

To MJ, there was no other possible way to react. She doesn’t think this restless yet unobtrusive guest is capable of doing anything she’d find insulting. Not because of his inadequacies, but because he’s kind of fascinating in a way that makes MJ very nervous. She’s almost 100% certain that, if she hadn’t already confirmed Peter Stark to be a dorky rich-boy with the world’s most obnoxious father, she might actually have feelings for him that go beyond appreciating his eyes.

Brad notices enough―MJ initiating a conversation? Peter saying something that makes her smile?―to feel possessive and resentful. He covers it by loudly hoping Vision’s doing ok, which works to send Peter running out of the room, probably feeling guilty for not checking on his brother sooner. Brad’s equilibrium is restored in his absence.

This being the third day the Park has been saddled with live-in visitors, Brad’s had plenty of shots at convincing MJ that she hates Peter. Or at least cementing her dislike of him, because he’s never seen his sister’s best friend change her mind about somebody once she’s made it up. His main (only) plan of attack has been and continues to be making scornful jokes about Peter and MJ’s make-believe relationship. In Brad’s mind, nothing will drive them apart faster than him pretending he wants to drive them together.

While Peter’s upstairs with Vision and Brad and MJ are helping Wanda with dinner (in the regular kitchen―the pristine restaurant kitchen is not to be touch), he decides it’s an excellent opportunity to drive the wedge in a little deeper.

“Pass me that cutting board,” Brad requests, then as MJ’s forced to twist towards him for the handoff, he says, “Hey, you know how you were talking about the influence your exert over Wanda?”

“The point of that conversation was that I don’t do that,” she corrects, swiveling back to set the temperature to preheat the oven. Wanda’s living in a cloud of steam, prodding lasagna noodles into bubbling, boiling water.

“You should do that with your future father-in-law,” Brad goes on, unbothered by MJ’s correction. He lowers his voice so his sister either won’t hear it, or won’t focus on it in the midst of her now simmering a deep pan of ground beef in tomato sauce. “Maybe it isn’t too late to save that Harley guy from following Stark Senior’s footsteps and turning into an egomaniacal attention-whore. Or,” he shrugs, splitting a carrot with a _crack_ , “at least try to intervene for the little one. Morgan, isn’t it? As much as you hate to get involved in other people’s problems, I can’t picture you standing idly by once you and Peter are, you know, committed.”

“Peter, by the way,” Brad says, unaware of or ignoring how violently MJ’s shifting their cookware around to get the lasagna dish, “definitely needs some work.”

MJ closes her eyes for a moment and fantasizes about swinging the rectangular glass dish around to break Brad’s nose.

“Any other suggestions for my happiness?” she asks coolly.

He’s grating his carrot chunks now and she wants to point out he could’ve skipped the step of cutting them up.

“Hmmm... yeah. You could paint a family portrait of them to hang at your place. Although,” Brad considers with a shrug, “then Tony Stark would probably make you do a duplicate to hang in their warehouse of a home so he could admire himself even more than he already does. Maybe leave Peter out of it though. I’m not sure even you could capture the raw power of those eyes.”

He should seriously know better by now, MJ feels, than to expect teasing her about the eye thing to do any damage. Conscious that the most painful response is to agree with this pain in the ass, she nods.

“It’d be a challenge. Not so much getting the colour and shape right―I have a ton of experience spotting all the subtle shades in brown eyes―but the energy behind them. I’d need to have him sit for a long session. Probably multiple sessions,” she says lightly, turning to the fridge to get the cottage cheese.

While she’s at the door, Peter enters the kitchen, hand on the doorframe and socked feet slipping a little because he turned at some speed.

“Look who’s here to help!” Brad says with boisterous enthusiasm, like speaking loudly now can obscure the words he said before their guest appeared.

“I didn’t realize you guys were gonna start dinner,” he explains. “Do you still need help?”

Brad quickly spreads his hands along the counter and shuffles all the ingredients not currently on the stovetop together.

“Nope, pretty much done here, man.”

MJ quickly closes the fridge door (reminding herself that she’s been standing there with it open since Peter walked in) and turns around to override Brad’s rudeness.

“Here,” she offers, stretching the tub of cottage cheese towards Peter, “you can do the cheese.”

“It’s ok,” Peter says with a laugh. “Looks like you’ve already got an assembly line set up. I won’t get in your way. ‘Too many cooks in the kitchen,’ right? I might not know a lot about cooking, but I’ve heard that one.” MJ glances over to see Wanda beginning to layer the sections into the lasagna pan. “Let me handle the dishes later though.”

And Peter’s totally happy to escape from their exclusion or their pity or whatever the hell was going on, confident, after checking in with Vision, that he and his brother will be out of here tomorrow. Soon, they can just be neighbours, at a distance, the way it’s supposed to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to redpepprflakes, inasentimentalmood, seekrest, Sususolutions, Eowima, SebastianandHarryandRory, Torvalvt, and Theslytherinterran for your comments on chapter 3! Translating _P &P_ into the Marvel universe is a painstaking process and your kind words are the nicest respite from the hard work!
> 
> How are we feeling about MJ's awkward advances in this one? She's definitely experiencing the onset of Feelings™. I'm afraid her plight's only going to get worse; in the next chapter, we arrive at my version of the Lizzie-and-Caroline-take-a-turn-about-the-room-to-show-off-their-figures scene. See you then!


	6. Weighty Judgements

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "He began to feel the danger of paying Elizabeth too much attention." - _Pride and Prejudice_ , ch. 11

In the morning, Peter dithers between insisting on walking down the stairs in front of Vision (to catch his weight if he falls) or behind him (to yank him back with his helpfully sticky fingers). Vision’s concerned that, if he allows Peter to walk in front, his brother will be constantly halting to look back at him and therefore more likely to cause an accident than prevent one. Vision goes first.

Behind him, Peter smiles to himself to see his brother’s blond hair and rumpled t-shirt; Vision assured him that everything is as it should be internally. It’s just that, the more human he’s become over the years, the more he feels sympathetic effects as he subconsciously mimics human behaviour. That means getting over a few days in bed results in phantom physical weakness and the need to readapt his hearing sensors to normal conversation after an unusual number of hours in isolation.

Vision’s reappearance replaces the grumpy, caustic Brad Peter’s gotten used to the last couple of days with a happy, polite Brad who’s eager to see his friend doing better. In fact, Peter’s never seen Brad so complimentary, so thoughtful towards another person, as he is when Vision joins them in the living room. They chat comfortably while Vision performs the automatic impulses that coincide with his human appearance―stretching his shoulders and scratching a hand through his hair.

Brad’s seemingly unswerving focus on Vision swings to Michelle when she and Wanda walk in from the kitchen. He says “good morning” and Michelle ignores him in favour of asking Vision how he’s feeling. Peter’s wary, watching them, but she seems sincere. Maybe it’s just her relief that Vision’s recovery means the uninvited guests won’t be hanging around much longer.

In contrast, it’s impossible to misinterpret or second-guess Wanda’s motives when she beams at Vision. “You look good,” she says to him, with his bedhead and his t-shirt, then corrects it to, “ _Better_ ,” briefly flushing. She takes a seat next to him on the couch, tucking her feet beneath her and barely looking up when Michelle hands her a mug of tea. Peter’s fighting a smile the whole time.

With Vision and Wanda an uninterruptible pair, the remaining three are left to occupy themselves separately. The other option is to talk _to each other_ ―a universally unappealing prospect. Michelle leans over a hardcover on the coffee table, letting it hold itself open while she peels and eats a clementine slice by slice. Brad copies her as far as the book, thumping his down on his lap. Not a school textbook today though, Peter sees, and not absorbing enough to hold Brad’s attention; the dude’s looking over at Michelle reading _her_ book more often than at the page in front of him. He interrupts her repeatedly, but Michelle gives him short replies―civil at the same time as making it clear that she wants to read, not talk. Peter thinks he understands Brad sufficiently by now to know he’s not dense enough not to notice that Michelle’s trying to read, he just doesn’t care. He’s jealous of the book, which Peter finds entertaining as hell.

Brad wears himself out getting absolutely nowhere and slides his book back onto the shelf of the built-in surrounding the TV. As he’s returning it, Peter glimpses the cover. It’s volume two of an anthology of twentieth-century American poetry. Guess who’s reading volume one. So _that’s_ why Brad forwent schoolwork.

“Nothing to start your morning like a little mind-broadening, huh?” Brad asks the room with a self-satisfied smile that baffles Peter. “‘I leave the book upon a cushioned chair/And walk from window to closed window, watching/Boughs strain against the sky.’”

“‘Pillowed,’” Michelle corrects softly around the clementine slice in her mouth.

“What?”

She chews and swallows, then looks up to fix her eyes intensely on Brad.

“It’s ‘a pillowed chair.’ You’re quoting Adrienne Rich.”

“Right,” he says, and Peter’s certain that Brad just memorized a random line on the page he had open. “I love that one. It’s very soothing.”

“The poem is ‘Storm Warnings,’ about a violent incoming storm.”

Michelle says it like a gentle explanation. It really doesn’t take much to wrong-foot Brad into silence.

Eavesdropping on Wanda and Vision rescues Brad from the awkward moment of his own making. He hears Wanda mention the restaurant’s nearing open house and shoulders into that conversation instead.

“So you’re definitely doing a big open house?” he asks his sister. “Maybe you should ask, you know, the other people who live here before you decide to turn this into some kind of soirée. I mean, it’s not really the Park’s vibe, is it? A fancy atmosphere with a ton of guests might feel more like personalized torture than celebration to, ahem, some of us.”

Wanda laughs.

“Very subtle, Brad. You may as well have just said you were talking about MJ, it’s not like she’s not listening.”

Without looking up from her volume of poetry, MJ raises a middle finger in their direction.

“Told you,” Wanda says to Brad. “And she doesn’t have to be involved if she doesn’t want to be. I’m not forcing her. I _am_ going ahead with the open house though, and I’ve spoken to Pepper for her input. There are so many things I wouldn’t even have thought of! MJ did an incredible design for the invitations before I could even ask her, so I’ll be sending e-vites... next week.”

Wanda sighs at the end of this, deep in thought as she tries to internally keep track of everything she still wants to get done.

“I think the open house would be better with more focus on your food, Wanda―you know, people actually _eating_ rather than standing around talking,” Brad recommends, crossing his arms. “It would make more sense too. If these journalists and influencers and whoever else are focused on eating, they’ll have more to say about your food when they talk about it and write their articles.”

“It wouldn’t be an open house then,” she says with a frown. “That would be a regular dinner. You’re quick to mock atmosphere,” Wanda teases, “but we need our guests to have a good all around _experience_ , not just a delicious meal.”

Brad huffs, sufficiently rebuked by both conversations to disengage entirely. He wanders for a minute, aimlessly touching things, straightening his school books on the table, before squaring his shoulders and striding purposefully into the next room, where Peter hasn’t been before. When he returns, his arm’s pumping up and down as he curls a thick, black dumbbell. The literal flexing is, as always, directed at Michelle, who’s methodically eating the final slices of her clementine and wiping her fingers on her jeans before turning a page of her book. Frustration reaching epic proportions, Brad turns to Peter.

“Hey,” he says with a bro-ish flick of his chin, arm still rising and falling steadily. “How much could Spider-Man lift?”

Peter stares at Brad. Horror, confusion, hilarity―he’s feeling them all.

“ _What_?”

“When you were Spider-Man,” Brad clarifies. “You must have been hitting the gym to do all that stuff you did, right? How much were you benching to be able to fight an alien army?”

Peter knows the lightness of his tone is a lie. It’s not a joke and no one in the room is laughing. Even if Brad thinks it’s some kind of competition―that his strength could possibly compare to what Peter was gifted by that radioactive spider―he’d never volunteer to go back in time to trade places, to fight Thanos’s army. Or feel every muscle in his body strain as he tried to rip the gauntlet from Thanos’s hand...

Peter takes a shuddering breath and remembers where he is.

“Oh,” he says slowly, “it wasn’t really like tha―”

“Come on,” Brad insists. “You’re probably going crazy after sitting in this room for three days.”

He says it like he’s helping Peter. What a dick. Peter wants to remind Brad that he shoveled their driveway yesterday, and that he’s been running up and down the stairs checking on Vision. Brad’s painting a pretty shitty picture of a post-hero Peter who lazes around, weak without his suit and the righteous purpose of saving civilians.

With a deep breath, Peter leans forward, hands on his knees, and says, “You’re right, man. I could use the exercise.”

That’s when Brad’s plan both triumphs and fails: MJ raises her head... to watch _Peter_. Because she always tidies up after herself, it’s an unconscious move to close her book and sweep her clementine peel into a napkin, even though she doesn’t mean to openly declare that something else is now holding her interest. Brad, attuned to MJ’s disheartening inclination to pay attention to Peter but not to him, already had his eyes on her and joking asks if she wants to join them. She shrugs and stands, following the guys as they go into the little home gym Brad’s set up in the next room, stopping to lean in the doorway.

With a suppressed grunt, Brad heaves the 35lb dumbbell (now weighing heavily in his grip) over to Peter, whose hand jumps up as he takes it, having expected it to be heavier. He wishes he could’ve put enough forethought in to make some of that for show, but he’d only be showing off to Michelle. Why bother wasting the energy? Glancing around at the smaller dumbbells on the weight rack, then the larger ones laid out along one wall, Peter selects the 50lb.

Michelle must make a sound he hears and doesn’t actively notice when he lifts the 50lb as easily as the 35, because Brad challenges his housemate to see if _she_ can do better than Spider-Man. His tone heavily implies that she can’t―covering his own aching ego―but she declines. Peter’s gaze is drifting towards the window when Michelle voices her reasons―sort of. She says it doesn’t take a genius to realize that the two of them, Brad and Peter, can only have two possible motives for working out right then, neither of which requires her involvement.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Brad demands, recovered and turning vengeful eyes on the 35lb dumbbell. “Do you know what she’s talking about?” he asks Peter.

He shrugs, swinging his arm with the 50lber in his grip. The momentum he could build, the way it could yank him forward... it reminds him of slinging webs and flying between skyscrapers. Just the memory of the feeling gives Peter a sense of freefall that he doesn’t know what to do with.

“Nothing we’re gonna want to hear,” Peter figures. “Probably better not to ask.”

Unfortunately, Brad’s main goal in life seems to be attempting to get Michelle’s attention, so while he has it, it’s impossible for him to resist pleading for enlightenment. Peter rolls his eyes and lifts the dumbbell over his head, letting it drop behind the back of his neck with his elbow bent, then curling it up again. The ceilings are high in here; with his arm stretched straight up, he’s nowhere close to hitting.

“Yeah, I’ll enlighten you,” she agrees. “You’re either lifting weights to participate in that oldest and most problematic of traditions: male bonding, or you know you look good flexing.” Peter almost clocks himself on the head when Michelle’s eyes sweep along his jumping bicep. He’s matching his brother this morning in a white t-shirt. “In the former case, I should probably interrupt before the arm wrestling starts. In the latter...” She pauses, watching Peter with great care as he brings his arm down and tosses the weight from one hand to the other like it’s an apple, like it’s nothing. “...it’s easier to check you out from right here.”

Brad snorts in astonishment.

“I don’t know if that’s the last thing I would’ve guessed you’d ever say, but it’s on the shortlist. Don’t you think it makes you a bad feminist, catcalling us?”

“First, no. Second, checking someone out is _not_ the same as catcalling,” Michelle informs him. “And third, you wanted me here. Should we take some time to consider your motives for _that_?”

“No, no, no,” Brad says, swiping her points away with a flap of his arm. “We aren’t making this about me. What do you think, Stark?” He turns, grinning, to Peter, whose eyes are going between the housemates. “What’s the penalty for being a creep?”

“I’m thinking you’d know what would work a lot better than I would,” Peter reminds him, “seeing as you two live together.”

“You think so, huh?” Brad lifts an eyebrow. Looking a little bitter about the admission, he says, “I don’t know MJ well enough for that. Just don’t laugh at her. She hates that.”

Peter can only assume Brad knows that much because he’s done it and gotten on her bad side, which is a pleasant thought since Peter doesn’t like either of them. Brad’s tenseness makes him smile.

“We can’t laugh at her?” He flicks his smile over to Michelle, impassive in the doorway. “That sucks for me.”

“You like to laugh?” she asks, staring him down. Peter’s smile gets nervous and starts to fade uncertainly.

“Yeah.”

“Some people think everything’s a joke,” Michelle goes on, not breaking eye contact. “Their circumstances put them out of touch with the rest of the world and whatever happens to anyone else is funny to them. Like they’re invincible.”

Clenching his jaw, Peter sets the weight aside. This is unmistakably Michelle’s latest attack on Peter’s family’s wealth, and maybe his powers too. It’s bullshit, but he doesn’t know how to say that in a way as subtle as hers. He can only pretend it isn’t that personal. And set her straight, while he’s at it.

“Sure,” Peter allows, “some people, but not me. I’ve lived through enough bad stuff to laugh at the good stuff. Jokes, people acting like idiots for fun―I guess none of that’s really you though, is it?”

“I try to avoid acting like an idiot,” she agrees dryly.

“By not doing things like... making assumptions about people you barely know. For example.”

Peter blurts it out. He can’t help himself, he’s been wanting to confront her about what she said at the benefit (while also really _not_ wanting to confront her) since that night. Being in close proximity has only increased the pressure, made it harder to contain his urge to lash out. But she walked into it and now he can’t take it back. Heart pounding, giddy and confused about where to go from here, Peter severs their locked gaze and looks away.

“What’s the verdict?” Brad demands. Peter almost forgot he was in the room.

“She’s flawless,” Peter says, unable to look at Brad either. “I mean, faultless. Michelle doesn’t have any flaws, she said so herself.”

“That’s not what I said, only that I don’t act like an idiot. That’s all external. Internally... my personality... Well, I’m stubborn,” she allows. Peter’s surprised to hear her offer up a weakness and glances at her thoughtful expression. It’s easier to study Michelle’s face without her brown eyes boring into his. “I trust my instincts, so I almost never change my mind.”

“About what?” he wonders.

“Anything. Anyone. I think people are who they are, and if I don’t like them immediately, I’ll never learn to.”

“I’d call that a flaw,” Peter ventures. “Just not one I can laugh about. You can go ahead and be relieved.”

“Nobody’s perfect,” Michelle says, focusing on him again. He can’t tell whether that’s defensiveness or another judgement. “A flawless person doesn’t exist.”

“Even if they did, they wouldn’t be special,” he concludes, “at least not to you. Your flaw is hating everyone equally.”

“And yours seems to be misunderstanding people on purpose,” she fires back.

“I’m going to sit down,” Brad says, moving to the door and interrupting an exchange he couldn’t care less about, since it doesn’t involve him. He looks like he’s going to put a hand on Michelle’s waist to slip past her, but she jumps back out of his reach.

Brad’s near-touch wakes her up, but it still takes another minute for MJ to tear her eyes away from Peter’s, turn her back on him, and take a seat in front of her book. She hears him shuffle into the living room after her and speak to his brother, but she lets her hair hang down to block her line of sight―a reminder not to raise her eyes. It was better when she was ignoring him. Small talk’s impossible and they seem totally unable to have a conversation that doesn’t turn into an impassioned fucking discussion. MJ doesn’t know what to do with that! Her heart’s racing and she’s turning pages without reading. She’ll be keeping her distance from here on out; no more letting Peter Stark get under her skin.

* * *

With Vision’s repeated promises that he feels up to heading home, Peter calls their dad. True, Vision could just fly back to the compound―and Peter’s no trouble for him to carry, they know from experience―but Peter’s feeling a little extra protective of his brother. Things like this don’t happen to Vision. Specifically, only one thing like this has ever happened to Vision, and it was when he fought Thanos. Peter wasn’t in Wakanda to see it, but he heard all about the Mad Titan’s rage when he arrived to find the Mind Stone already removed from Vision’s head and Vision himself a formidable obstacle between him and his undeserved prize. In contrast, the last three days are minor, it just isn’t a good feeling to see his brother incapacitated.

At the compound, Tony’s been hoping for Peter and Vision (mostly Vision, since he’s the one Wanda’s really connected with) to stretch their welcome at the Park to its very limit, and not come home sooner. The news of Vision’s full recovery is great, of course, but Tony still tries to bargain with Peter on the phone. Why can’t the kid (in his early twenties, Peter’s still ‘the kid’) fake an illness of his own? Make some kind of excuse? Improvise? Tony’s seen him do it well enough on the battlefield, but these days, his son’s lost his spontaneity. Or he’s just counting on his dad. Dammit.

Though Tony refuses Peter’s first request to drive over and pick them up, he calls back within half an hour. In the meantime, Peter talked Vision into asking Wanda to drive them home in _her_ car because one more small favour would be better than another full day and night imposing on their lives and their home. With his dad’s agreement to pick them up (presented by Tony as his own idea), the Stark boys don’t have to add another favour to the things they feel they own Wanda.

The only condition is that Tony won’t come until after lunch; he wants them all to at least have another meal together. In his mind, meals are the perfect casual setting to let his charisma creep up on someone who has their guard down. Brad is the other proponent of the after-lunch plan, which he immediately regrets. After having Vision in the house so long, but not actually getting to interact with him, Brad has a last-second swell of curiosity, forgetting that, as interesting as he finds the one brother, he can’t stand the other one. In fact, having Vision for a couple hours longer doesn’t make up for Peter’s presence at all. Brad sulks through lunch.

Vision’s willing to leave―only reluctant to be parted from Wanda―Peter’s ready to go home, but it’s MJ who’s feeling the happiest. She doesn’t display her relief any more than her reason for it. They’d probably guess that she thinks Peter’s overstayed his welcome. That’s 100% true. It just isn’t due to the fact that he’s eating their food or participating in their conversations. It’s because MJ’s discovering that he’s more attractive to her than she thought, than what she wants. Plus, Brad’s suspicions made him nastier to Peter (not ok with her) and somehow gave Brad permission to think he could tease _her_ about it ( _seriously_ not ok with her). All she can do now is stonewall Peter. Nobody can infer anything if she doesn’t give them an opportunity. Over lunch, MJ ignores Peter entirely and when she doubts her resolve because his gaze swings to her, she pulls out a book and thuds it down on the table.

As the Starks are finally leaving, with Tony pulling into the driveway, Brad’s friendliness to Peter rockets up exponentially, freaking Peter completely the fuck out. The confirmed asshole gives Vision a half-hug, saying they can hang out anytime, and even shakes hands with Peter, who’s too stunned not to comply. He’s actually _so_ stunned that he doesn’t watch his footing on the icy front step that he forgot to salt when he shoveled the driveway. His instinct is to turn the way he’s slipping into a backflip, to completely re-establish his footing, but while Peter’s still weighing recovery against the cringiness of looking like he’s showing off, a hand grips of his upper arm tightly. He jerks his head around and locks eyes with Michelle. They exhale steam in the cold air. Miraculously, he regains his balance and she releases him, neither of them saying a word. The dizziness of discombobulation shifts to giddiness to be heading home as soon as his family’s in the car with the Park behind them.

MJ doesn’t watch them go. She’s the last one in the door, convincing herself that the feeling she’s shaking out of her hand is the chill from Peter’s coat.

Tony was talkative with Wanda while his sons got in the car and their host stood on the doorstep to avoid stepping out into the snow, but he’s silent on the way to the compound. He can’t stay that way for long, but hey, it’s the posturing that counts. While he’s petulant about their ‘early’ return, Pepper’s grateful to see her sons. She tends to give Tony slightly more real estate in the realm of caring for Vision, which is why she hasn’t interfered to shorten their absence, but she loves him just as much as her husband does and, without an underlying scheme to tide her over, missed him even more. She’s quick to hug Peter into her and whisper about the chaos left in his and his older brother’s wake; Morgan, Harley, and Nebula have had the run of the place and it hasn’t been pretty. It’s been the law of the jungle at their attempts at sit-down meals. Pepper kisses Peter’s forehead and tells him again how glad she is to have him back.

Peter escorts Vision to see each of their siblings, not wanting his brother overwhelmed; they’ve always been the most susceptible to those closest to them. (Yeah, he’s thinking of his dad running that stupid diagnostic.) In a workshop, Nebula’s still on her breakfast kick―not _eating_ it, but Frankenstein-ing their breakfast-making appliances into a singular machine that can poach eats, flip pancakes (she’s super into pancakes), and pour coffee. Peter’s the guinea pig who sips nervously from a mug Nebula thrusts at him with expectant eyes. The cappuccino tastes undeniably yolky.

Harley and Morgan, ensconced and staring down at their brothers like conquerors from the top bunk of Morgan’s bunk bed, have a less tangible discovery to present. They’ve been scouring Twitter, on the trail of advanced technology being distributed through the state. Their dad was the first to bring it to their attention. He does that sometimes, mentions things just to get them out of his own head, with the vague assurance that one or both of Harley and Morgan will pick up the slack and be his detectives. They’re the curious shit-disturbers of the family. Well, the two of them have been digging, teasing apart the strings from various Twitter threads. They even have a mess of a conspiracy wall to prove it. Maybe they have done some real research in between falling into social media hearsay and misinformation, but as Peter listens to them talk over each other, he tries to strain the fake news from nuggets of potential truth. Parsing it that way, all this inflated story really sounds like is a rising tech company making inroads on the New York market. Worst case scenario, it’s somebody like Klaue who’s gotten his hands on something that doesn’t belong to him. Best case, there’s a dude driving around selling refurbished Furbies out of his trunk to make a buck. What Peter’s certain of is, if it was the former, the remaining active Avengers would’ve already taken care of it.

* * *

“Mph!” Peppers says around a sticky bite of peanut butter-slathered toast. She swallows. “Tony, I need you to get the workshops organized today. Or just your workshop.” She waves her hand dismissively. “Or even just make sure everything―every tool, every pair of safety glasses―that’s migrated out of your workshop finds its way back in. Vision,” she says, cocking her head imploringly at her son, “maybe you could make sure he stays on track with that?”

“Of course.”

Tony has to thump his chest―he’s on a new medication to deal with circulation issues in his legs and it’s a horse-pill―before he can reply.

“What are you talking about?” he asks innocently. “Everything’s fine, everything’s neat. We haven’t had a safety incident in...” He snaps his fingers and can’t come up with the number, so he points at his daughter.

“Four days,” Nebula supplies.

“Is that _all_?”

It’s the same amount of time that Peter and Vision have been home and therefore available to head off potential health and safety emergencies.

“Ok, I...” Pepper falters and has to close her eyes for a meditative moment. “I don’t even know what to say to that, except that this clearly _really_ needs to be done.” When her husband opens his mouth, she puts a hand over his. “Tony, pick up your toys before one of your children loses an eye.”

No longer able to deny that there’s a problem (thanks, Neb), he shrugs.

“They can navigate my chaos.”

“I don’t need it done to family standards,” Pepper says. She sits up straighter and glances around the kitchen, indicating that her next words are for everyone to hear. “We have a guest coming.”

Tony frowns.

“Really? ‘Cause Pete’s kinda my eye in the sky―seriously though, kid, in rooms where the ceiling’s more than twenty feet high, keep your Spidey socks on the floor―and he didn’t mention anything on the agenda. Unless you mean Ned, but if anything, seeing my tech all over the place is part of his compound experience.”

“Not Ned,” Pepper confirms. “It’s a stranger.”

Morgan gasped excitedly and Tony narrowed his eyes at her.

“Is that the emotion you’re supposed to feel about strangers?”

“I’m not scared of strangers,” Morgan disputes, swinging her legs under her chair. “My dad will kick their ass.”

“That’s true,” he agrees. A second later, “But don’t say ‘ass’.”

“Don’t say ‘ass’?”

“Watch it, smartass.”

Morgan giggles while her mother sighs. Tony refocuses before long.

“So it’s Wanda.”

“It’s not Wanda,” Pepper states.

“It’s Wanda, though,” Tony insists with a _you can’t fool me_ tilt of his head. “And, hey, Pep, if you’d come to pick up Pete and Vision with me, you could’ve talked to her yourself. Then you wouldn’t have to call her a stranger. _Which reminds me_ ,” he goes on, turning to his android son. “Why didn’t you say anything about this? She must have mentioned a follow-up visit to you, all that time you spent canoodling. Of course she wouldn’t be able to keep away for too long. Vision, you sly dog.”

He waggles a finger at his speechless, then stammering, son.

“It’s _not_ Wanda!” his wife cuts in. “It’s someone I’ve never met in my life, and at this point, I think you know, Tony, that I’ve made the acquaintance of just about everyone you have, plus all the people I _had_ to meet because you wouldn’t.”

“I don’t like shaking hands during flu season.”

“It wasn’t _always_ flu season.”

“You know me; I hate taking chances. Who’s the stranger then?”

Their kids start asking questions as well, at various volumes and making various amounts of sense. It’s funny at first, but as Pepper recalls the reason behind the impending visit, the expression sags on her face.

“A couple weeks ago,” she begins, “I got an... unexpected email. It’s kind of a tricky situation, so I took some time to think about it, and I responded last week. It’s from Flash Thompson. Now, I know that name’s not going to be familiar to you guys,” Pepper says gently, addressing her children, “but he’s―”

“Flash Thompson? Like, ‘Flash Mob’?!” Harley demands. “ _That_ Flash Thompson? The dumbass who posts videos about how much he loves Spider-Man?”

This is news to Peter, who jolts in discomfort, but Pepper holds out a hand to him before he can express how freaked out he is in words.

“Don’t say ‘dumbass,’” she instructs Harley. “But... yes. He did use an unprecedented number of hashtags in the body of his email. And the subject line. More critically, he’s the heir of Thompson Integrated Trust.”

Harley opens his mouth and Tony’s head is turned, eyebrows raised, in his son’s direction before he can make a sound.

“Why don’t you take a second to consider the fact that your ten-year-old sister is sitting right there before you play Fun with Acronyms.”

“I was going to ask when Flash is coming here,” Harley huffs.

“Tit,” Nebula supplies. Tony glares at her. “Morgan can spell,” she justifies. “She asked me to assist her with her preparations for her last quiz. She’s excellent at it.”

“Thanks, Nebula,” Morgan says, beaming.

With a philosophical expression, Harley veers away from relevant questions and turns back into a young Tony.

“He’s heir to TIT. Why just the one tit? Shouldn’t there be a pair?”

“Dude, you need a girlfriend,” Peter says with a condescending snort.

“Look who’s talking, bed-webber.”

“Why don’t we,” Tony suggests, “just not talk about _him_ and hope he goes away?”

“ _Tony_ ,” Pepper sighs. “He’s not going to go away.”

“It’d be more convenient than him leveraging his father’s company’s shareholding to take control of Stark Industries,” her husband complains. “Thereby―” He covers Morgan’s ears while she frowns at him and tries to escape his hold. “― _screwing_ the kids out of the hundred-year-old family business.”

“Wait, _that’s_ what’s happening?” Harley asks.

Morgan shakes her father off and asks, “ _What’s_ happening?”

“Tell you later,” her brother promises.

“Nobody in this room is in favour of that happening,” Pepper reminds Tony, “but our...” She grits her teeth. “... _frustrations_ can’t change the facts. And ignoring them, or Flash Thompson, isn’t a plan, and one of those would help right about now. Let me read you his email and you can see what you think.”

“I think I hate him,” Tony supplies. “What kind of an asshole invites himself for a visit with the family he can disenfranchise whenever he feels like it? Couldn’t you have just told him to go fu―” He pauses with a wary glance at his daughter. “―go, uh, take a walk in the park?”

His wife gives him a stare that means she’s waiting for him to zip it, so he does. She lifts the tablet at her elbow and taps to navigate to the email that’s felt like it’s weighing her whole inbox down since it arrived.

“So, from the subject line...” she says, and starts to read.

_Wuzup, #TonyStark and fam!_

_Cool, so, I found this email address in my father’s contacts and I hope it’s #legit and not sending my email into, like, customer service limbo for the rest of time. Ideally, the person I’m talking to right now is Pepper, because she’s one of my idols. Massive respect for that #girlboss._

_Maybe you aren’t exactly hyped to hear from me. I know I wouldn’t be thrilled about the way my father did that sneaky shit with buying a bunch of Stark Industries shares under different holdings if it happened to me. He didn’t really tell me much about that, or really include me much in our own family business, but he’s dead now, so I heard about all that from the lawyers. Let me tell you, I was #shook. I want to make it right with you and I would’ve gotten in touch sooner, but I guess I still don’t want to disappoint him and I can’t say for sure what he’d think about this. Since he’s dead, like I said._

“See, Tony?” Pepper paused to highlight the passage for her husband. “Can’t you be at least a little sympathetic?”

_But like Whitesnake said, I’ve made up my mind and I ain’t wastin’ no more time. Maybe you know of the account I’ve set up, where I post videos about myself, #NewYorkheroes, and my interactions with them. My #bigbreak was meeting the one and only Nick Fury. Yeah, my father set that up. #networking, am I right? Do you guys know Fury? He is epic. Used to be director of something called Shield or Armour or something. Just a heads up in case you were thinking about filming him―do not. He freaking hates it LOL_

_What Fury does like about what I do is the everyperson’s perspective on superheroes. He said they need “all the humanizing they can get” or something. I guess a lot of people hate them/you (what up, Iron Man, if you’re reading this!) for doing a kind of half-assed job of saving Earth. That’s all water under the bridge to me, #whatevs. So, Fury’s hooking me up with content of #heroesbeingsoft to feature, plus tip-offs on where I can find certain people at certain times. They always seem pretty pissed though, so maybe that’s a secret or he forgets to tell them? Still useable (check out my vid, “I Found the Winter Solider in Greenwich Village and He Swore at Me for Six and a Half Minutes in Seven Different Languages – NOT CLICKBAIT”)._

_Anyway, since my current entrepreneurial goals as an influencer revolve around showcasing heroes (you can also google my #sidehustle, DJing), it seems really obvious to me that this is something we can all benefit from. For that reason, it would be awesome if we could put that whole inheriting most of your shares thing to one side and just, like, chill. Sounds like the best time ever already, right? I definitely don’t want the #girlboss or #IronMan to resent me, but, as I know from experience that parents don’t always live that long, I don’t want your kids to hate me either. Can you tell them “my bad” from me for now? It’s not really my bad, as you know, but I feel shitty about it, so I think that’s the right approach. For real, though, I want to do what I can to make up for that and not feel like such a Scrooge McDuck. We can talk about that when I see you._

_If it’s good with you guys, I’d love to come up for the weekend or a week or two (we’ll see how it goes). I’ve scheduled a bunch of Tweets and videos, so it’s no problem to step away for a while. But since you guys probably have the sickest wifi in the state, I guess I could do an emergency Story for the Gram if I needed to._

_Hi to everybody there and #thoughtsandprayers to Iron Man as he continues his brave journey of healing._

_Flash Thompson_

Tony slowly wipes a hand over his face.

“How long do we have?”

“He’s coming in a week,” Pepper replies, voice steady as she eyes her husband and lowers her tablet. “It seems as though... Well, Flash seems nice enough, if a little... _much_.”

Harley snorts.

“I’ll say. Watch one of his videos, Mom.”

Pepper gives him a look.

“Anyway,” she goes on, “one thing Flash isn’t wrong about is the value of improving our working relationship with Thompson Integrated Trust. I don’t know exactly what he has in mind, but I’d be interested to hear it. Especially if Fury’s influenced his thought process.”

“It’s true that his inheritance stands to yank the rug out from under our children,” Tony says tightly.

“Do you need a sec?” his wife checks.

“Yeah, I’m trying to remember what it felt like to believe that Fury was done interfering in my life.”

He rubs his temple and Peter sighs in commiseration. Oh, he’s never met Director Fury―his dad made sure of that―but he’s heard _plenty_.

“I must admit,” Vision pipes up, “that I’m puzzled over how he intends to make us, ahem, _not hate him_ , though the sentiment is an admirable one.”

Hmm. Peter still can’t get past Flash Thompson’s devotion to Fury. Seems to him that, if Flash’s loyalty is already placed, he can’t have a hell of a lot left over to toss to the Starks in the interest of mending gold-plated fences.

“I don’t know,” Peter begins uncertainly, words winding ahead of any formed thoughts. “Maybe it’s what Harley said about this guy making videos about how much he loves Spider-Man, but I’m kinda weirded out. Are we sure he’s, you know, sane?” When no one can offer a definitive answer, he proceeds as if he never asked. “His email isn’t exactly humble. He’s bragging about being an influencer, and his connection to Director Fury, and at the same time he’s saying ‘my bad’ over fucking us out of―”

“Peter!” his mom hisses.

“Sorry, screwing us out of―”

“ _Peter_ ,” his dad says in a sly warning tone that Peter knows is disguising secret amusement.

“You get it,” Peter concludes, flicking his arms out in exasperation. “It’s not like Flash would really want to do anything for us, obviously. Anything pro-us is anti-him. Our gain is his loss. He just can’t be serious with this. Or he is, and he’s a hypocrite.”

He crosses his arms and sits back with a heavy exhale.

“Personally,” Tony declares, “I have my fingers crossed for ‘stone-cold idiot.’ Flash was wowed by Fury, who’s basically a bad attitude wearing an eye patch. I’m thinking we blow this guy’s mind with the compound and the suits and the tech and win him over. Then, we trick him―”

“Tony!” Pepper interjects with the same tone she used for their son.

“Sorry, we manipulate him...” He extends his hand, palm up, towards Harley, who high-fives it.

His wife sighs.

“We need to be careful with this. Nothing underhanded, no legal grey area. This _kid_ ,” she determines, when Harley holds up his phone to display Flash’s Instagram page, “has the power to affect our future.”

“Hey,” Tony counters, “affect our future? Been there, done that. It’s not like the Thompson kid’s packing a Time Stone. It’ll be no sweat.”

“It’ll be _no_ , period.”

Nebula speaks before the pair can continue bickering.

“The structure of the missive itself is not faulty,” she pronounces. “If Flash Thompson truly desired peace, I believe we can all agree that it would have been more honourable of him to submit himself and his mettle to trial by combat, the best way to settle any dispute. I can only assume that he is impotent―” She glares at Peter when he chokes. “―as a warrior. A shame, as I would have gladly won Stark Industries back on your behalf,” she concludes, nodding to Tony.

When the discussion breaks up, Tony has a smile on his face. Could be that he convinced himself of Flash’s defencelessness, or maybe it’s how he feels when he pictures his daughter attacking Flash with a large blade and an unholy shriek. Hard to say. Regardless, Tony hasn’t felt this relaxed about the SI shares since before he ever heard of TIT. (Or it’s the acronym. He is a man of simple pleasures.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter summary:
> 
> Brad: do u even lift  
> Peter: actually ya  
> MJ: *eyes emoji*
> 
> Next chapter: Flash comes to the compound, and he isn't the only new character introduced! Are we ready to meet this adaptation's Mr. Wickham?
> 
> Oh, and a note. I'm thinking of switching to Sunday updates for this story now that I'll be posting updates to my _Affinity War_ sequel, _Boyfri(endgame)_ , on Saturdays. Gotta leave 'em space to BREATHE!


	7. Flash Thompson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "'You judge very properly,' said Mr. Bennet, 'and it is happy for you that you posses the talent of flattering with delicacy.'" - _Pride and Prejudice_ , ch. 14

Flash arrives iPhone-first, filming his approach to the door, complete with narration. He trails a large suitcase behind him and the car that deposited both it and Flash pulls cleanly away without a signal from him. Pepper, watching from just inside, can only assume being a distracted disembarker is a habit with this passenger. She squares her shoulders for purposes of intimidation and professionalism and has the door open before Flash can begin to search for a bell or knocker. He puts his phone away and, after introductions, tells her the footage wasn’t being live-streamed; she assures him she’s aware and that if it had, Tony would have already issued a drone strike for the breach of their privacy. Flash is wide-eyed with childish delight at the joke of death-by-Iron-Man. Pepper overcomes the urge to pinch herself for a reminder that this is Stark Industries’ majority shareholder. She motions him inside.

Pepper’s happy to take the lay of the land in silence and she gets to―between their guest and her kids (the whole family’s present to be introduced), there are zero conversational lulls requiring tactful filling. To her eye, Flash looks about Peter’s age, and Harley, a year older, heads the charge, asking Flash enthusiastic questions about his videos. What subtracts from the sweet earnestness of the scene, for Pepper, is the knowledge that Harley would be tearing Flash a new one right about now if the guest had entered the compound with anything other than humbled awe. But Flash, for his unusually self-centered arrival, has good manners, a studied handshake, and an immediate and steady flow of compliments.

He can’t look around without verbally admiring the compound’s scale or features or war-torn history. Can’t look at Tony, who’s standing tall with his exoskeleton and his arms folded, without swooning over Iron Man’s living legacy. Can’t shift from addressing one of the Stark kids to another without mentioning some impressive fact he read about them online―even Morgan, who’s flying through the grades while being tutored from home. (Pepper has to mention her youngest child in interviews occasionally or else rumours start, like the one claiming they keep their daughter at the compound to experiment on her, hoping to produce another super-kid like Peter. The reality of the difficulties of attending school as Iron Man’s child apparently doesn’t strike the press as reason enough for Morgan’s homeschooling.) Everything Flash says he’s heard or read about the family and the building he also pronounces to have been an understatement; everything’s bigger, better, more impressive now that he gets to see it in person, he swears. Then, probably angling for the parents’ approval, Flash prophesizes the stellar and blanket success of the Stark kids.

This is where Pepper internally hands over control of their encounter to her husband, who won’t be able to resist the opportunity to be both pushy and charming.

“Flash―can I call you Flash? Great. Flash, buddy, that sure means a lot to Pepper and I.” He strokes his wife’s arm and she tamps her widening grin into an acknowledging smile. “I did a little research myself before you got here, so I know you don’t have kids, but, boy, if you did, you’d know how much their future...” He waves his hand like the thought’s still coming to him, like it isn’t one of thousands of ways to introduce this line of discussion that he mentally test-drove days ago. “... that success you were talking about, how much that’s on our minds.”

“I can imagine,” Flash cheerfully concedes.

“That other thing you mentioned.” Tony actually snaps his fingers like he’s having trouble with his recall―Pepper almost rolls her eyes. “About Iron Man’s legacy? Totally flattered by the way, pal, let me know if I can sign something for you before you leave. Well, there’s also _my_ legacy.” He touches his own chest lightly, fingers steeped over his heart and the former location of less organic components. “As a son, as a father. As a Stark. Things that I’d sure like to be able to pass on to my kids. You know what I mean?”

“You’re talking about Stark Industries, right?” Flash checks eagerly. “The ownership? The shares?”

“Got it in one! Pepper,” Tony says, swinging his head to look at his wife while avoiding her cautioning eyes, “I like this guy. Very sharp.”

‘This guy’ beams.

“You gotta see,” Tony goes on, “how it’s a raw deal for my family, if you decide to take on an active role at SI. Not that I put any of that blame on you. Business,” he snappily concludes.

“Man, I know!” Flash agrees, letting his host lead him to a couch. “I didn’t want to get right into it and make it seem like that’s all I care about, because it’s not! The only thing I want to put out there, for now, is that I’m really interested in finding out more about you guys,” he says, looking keenly around at Vision, Nebula, and the others. When his gaze reaches Peter, Flash gasps, “Wow, I’m in a room with Spider-Man,” then adds more audibly, to the group as a whole, “I hope we can help each other.”

Flash rambles on for a while after that until Tony loudly insists that Vision show their guest the room he’ll be staying in during his visit. As he leaves, they can hear him commenting on every room he passes, every view out every window. This behaviour was kind of funny when Flash entered, but now, Tony’s picturing dollar symbols in the kid’s eyes whenever they sweep over something that _he_ built. Tony clenches his jaw enough to give himself the beginnings of a headache, which blows because he has to be careful about painkillers these days. He isn’t due for any for another hour and a half, so he tries to relax his face. Maybe he can coax his angry blue daughter into a Pilates session and convince her it’s for her own wellbeing. She’ll see through him, but what the hell. Lying badly to each other without meaning it has been a critical part of their bonding.

* * *

The Starks are happy to push back their regular dinner hour to accommodate Flash’s extensive documenting of his visit so far―Peter hears him through the door of his temporary bedroom, addressing the ‘Flash Mob’ and praising the compound and its inhabitants with enough effusiveness to sound like he’s on a sugar rush. When their guest does appear, he seems to have calmed himself. And changed polo shirts.

Pepper’s been wanting to request a privately catered meal from Wanda, just for the family, but since Vision and Peter’s extended stay at the Park, she hasn’t wanted to impose, so dinner tonight is pizza. They never order fewer than a dozen pies at a time; they’re keeping the local guy in business, now that the area’s built up enough that there _is_ a local guy. Tony complains about not getting to send an unmanned suit or an aircraft with a bigger price tag to Manhattan to grab dinner. His wife tells him to be less of a show-off. It’s a suggestion that continues to fall on deaf ears.

Pizza’s an undemanding dish, easy to have a conversation around, though Flash has already proven he can keep the words coming. Pepper decides she’s heard plenty about their sleek dining room and their taste in pizza parlours, so she nudges their guest in the direction of something it’ll be useful to learn more about: Fury’s patronage. A few words from her to hint about Fury’s interest in and influence on Flash’s fledgling career are all it takes to launch Flash into what seems to be his favourite subject. Pepper picked well, but doesn’t she always?

Flash is at his most articulate and his most serious when describing his connection to Fury. He comes across almost mature, ready to display how humbling he finds Fury’s interest in his work. Never speaking with his mouth full, Flash explains how Fury often gives him feedback on his superhero content without being asked. (Tony snorts and pretends to have burnt his mouth on hot cheese.) How awesome it is for Flash to wake up in the middle of the night and find Fury lurking in his kitchen, or have the director pull an unmarked black SUV up to the curb where Flash is walking and ask him to jump in for a chat. Tony is alternately baffled and horrified; this kid is in love with all the things about Fury that he hates the most. All those adorable spy quirks.

From the way Flash talks about Fury, he’s at least aware of the reputation the man has for being a meddling, menacing, manipulating omnipresence, but he claims to have never seen proof of it himself. In his eyes, Fury is helpful and wise, even suggesting―without the teensiest hint of feeling betrayed―that Flash find a business partner. Fury’s even told him, after a few instances of breaking into Flash’s home, how to reorient his furniture to allow for a hasty escape. Like secret agent feng shui.

“Yeah, that’s... nice of him,” Tony says with effort. “Seems like you’ve been exposed to a softer, more domestic side of Fury.”

“I keep forgetting that you know him really well!” Flash exclaims.

“I’m fairly confident there isn’t a person alive who knows him ‘really well.’”

“Well, Carol.”

Flash says it casually before reaching for another slice of pizza. His progress with the meal is well behind the others, since he’s been doing most of the talking. Tony tries not to reveal how surprised he is that Fury has (according to Tony’s current nemesis) a confidante.

“Carol?”

“Danvers. Her and Fury are like siblings.”

Tony wants to turn to the nearest screen or ask his family why the name ‘Carol Danvers’ is familiar, but he’s supposed to be on his best behaviour.

“What’s she like?” he asks Flash. In his mind, she’s a female Fury. Eye patch, trench coat, the whole shebang.

“Oh, she’s _incredible_ ,” their guest enthuses. “She’s funny, and strong, and she can fly _anything_. It’s too bad she’s not on Earth more.”

Tony turns a smug face to Pepper, having figured out (after that last sizable clue) that Carol Danvers is better known to him as Captain Marvel. His wife just gives him a weird look. Right, she probably knew the whole time.

“Of course,” Flash goes on, “that’s something I’ve mentioned to Director Fury more than once. What he really liked was when I said that, if Carol operated solely on this planet, she would’ve been recognized as the greatest Avenger from the beginning. I don’t know who enjoyed that compliment more, me or him, and I can’t say he doesn’t deserve to be told what he wants to hear, after all the help he’s given me.”

“I’m sure Fury appreciates that very much,” Pepper says quickly, before her idiot husband can come up with something stunningly sarcastic. “You’re probably a good judge of the difference between a genuine compliment and an ironic one, I’d imagine, because your career revolves around social media.”

“Thank you,” Flash says, delighted, “I never thought of it like that before. I do sometimes screenshot quotes or mantras or positive affirmations and try to come up with something similar. You never know when you can use something like that, in my line of work.”

“So you drop those into conversation?” she wonders, suppressing the word ‘plagiarism.’

“Well, I change them a little, to fit the situation,” he brags. “And to make sure that it doesn’t sound like I prepared them ahead of time.”

“Right.”

He’s as much of a dumbass as Harley warned her he would be. A dumbass, but still a dangerous dumbass, one who owns the majority of Stark Industries. He doesn’t seem inclined to wield that power though; despite the phoniness he’s just admitted to, his admiration for Fury, Carol, and the rest of the Avengers (Pepper’s husband included) comes across as genuine. She exchanges a few glances with Peter, whose face can most frequently be relied upon to mirror her own feelings (though she’s better at hiding them), and it’s reassuring to see that someone’s on the same page.

Later that evening, she calls Tony and the kids back from the parts of the compound they’ve scattered to. Before Flash’s arrival, they promised to concentrate on the guest, but while they’re awful at maintaining focus, they can always be counted on to show up when she asks. Unfortunately, they’re flagging, her misfits who have gotten so used to isolating themselves, in the face of even more conversation. As a solution, Pepper suggests that Flash could play them some of his videos. Their guest is transfixed by the sight of his own face projected as a hologram; it’s the Stark technology version of a home theatre.

The plan doesn’t put an end to Flash’s talking―he narrates over himself as they witness him on vacation after vacation―but it doesn’t involve any back-and-forth, and the family is grateful for the reprieve. Pepper feels something else though. She’s a little sad for Flash. Certainly, the young man has been fortunate to get to travel the world, only... these aren’t exactly the sun-splashed holidays they first appear to be. At the beginning of each, their guest mumbles something about which of his father’s business trips the video was filmed during, and Pepper understands that some of Flash’s impetus for filming his travels is being constantly left alone. Maybe he thinks that showing off aggressively enough will detract from the things that _aren’t_ there: family and friends.

Tony, who seems unburdened by any such revelation, eggs Flash into playing his Spider-Man videos. The shine in his eyes makes Pepper suspicious; she knows her husband’s up to something beyond embarrassing Peter. Their guest agrees without too much sheepishness. Flash’s Spider-Man series consists of his theories before Peter’s true identity was exposed by _The Daily Bugle_ , his reactions post-exposure, and dozens of attempts to capture footage of Spider-Man swinging by high above street level.

Harley interrupts Flash’s mini film festival (and his mom’s reflections) to announce his intention of driving into Albany tomorrow or the next day. Although Peter’s been minorly mortified for the last half-hour, he joins Vision in shushing Harley (slash punching him in the arm where their mom can’t see). It’s no good though―Flash is looking insulted and self-conscious.

Pepper works at smoothing things over, but it’s an apology from Iron Man himself, plus Vision and Peter, that finally pacifies Flash. Despite his promises that he forgives Harley, Flash won’t show any more of his content. Of all the assembled Starks, Peter has the greatest challenge in faking disappointment.

* * *

So Flash Thompson is a little moody. A little shallow. A little bit of a basic B. He comes by it naturally. At an early age, he realized it would be a struggle to get his father’s attention. When Flash’s core plan to accomplish that―following in the man’s footsteps by attending business school―didn’t manifest results, he emulated his peers instead, doing what the other rich kids were doing, and what the other rich kids were doing was paying the smart, mercenary-minded kids of various economic backgrounds to write their exams for them, thereby leaving school with a degree and zero knowledge behind it. Really, Flash is a success story; at least he created something for himself post-graduation. He has a platform! He has followers! When his father died, he found out he has on-paper control of Stark Industries too! Yay?

Thanks to absentee parenting, Flash developed a personality that’s a weird balance of the desire to show off and the desire to be liked, no―loved! No―adored! He brags, but he’s ingratiating. He’s proud, but he idolizes freely. Had he come of age universally neglected, who knows what would have happened? Instead, he grew a fan base and got a taste of popularity. It’s all gone to his head and the entrance of Director Fury into Flash’s life story hasn’t helped him find any moderation. Fury’s patronage, for lack of a better term, is another opportunity for Flash to teeter between arrogance at the association and crawling-on-hands-and-knees humbleness at discovering himself to be right at the heart of the superhero world he’s always admired. In a weird way, Fury’s become a sort of quarter-life replacement for Flash’s father... but there’s no way in hell he’s admitting to daddy issues.

With the purely monetary side of his inheritance, and the influencer empire he’s certain he’s on his way to constructing, Flash is looking for one thing during his time with the Starks: a business partner. Sure, he can film videos of himself on his own, but a partner could manage his brand, go to bat for him as things expand and contracts (book deals? Clothing lines? A cologne, maybe?) land on the table. Plus help him manage the big, important shit―his inheritance and the fate of his father’s investments.

As someone who longs to be liked, the current scuff on the shoe of Flash’s life is the fact that Iron Man and the Iron Fam probably dislike him because of his father’s business dealings. Picking one of the Stark siblings as his partner would definitely change that. Once they’re part of his company (his personal brand, or however that works), Flash’ll still be the one cutting cheques from the SI funds, but the money will be going right back to one of the Starks.

It’s an _ingenious_ plan and very altruistic, if he does say so himself. _And_ , completely not about him. Because how could roping the child of a superhero (some of whom are also superheroes) into his business of filming and talking about superheroes possibly be about personal gain?

Meeting them, Flash is even more convinced of his own brilliance. Tony and Pepper (shit, it gives him a thrill just to call them by their first names in his head―he tried doing it in person, on Pepper’s request, and stammered out nonsense) clearly view Vision as just as much of a son to them as their biological ones, which is totally perfect. Based on, well, looking like the oldest, plus being undoubtedly the smartest, Vision has to be the obvious choice for Flash’s partner from the parents’ perspective. Flash chooses him almost immediately, though he keeps a careful poker face in case anyone’s trying to guess his intentions.

He reveals the scheme to Tony Stark the next morning, pulling him aside with a grave ‘let’s talk business’ expression. His yearning to make amends with the family is what Flash pushes to the forefront in his short, hushed speech and he really thinks Iron Man hears him, rubbing a finger along that trademark beard of his. Of course, Flash also throws out the bait about _paying_ the selected Stark. He understands that money talks. That all seems to go down pretty well with Tony, so Flash announces that he wants Vision as his business partner. Then his host’s expression changes. He doesn’t dissuade Flash from the amends or the partner or the money, but he’s kind enough not to let Flash hold out hope on working with the Stark who’s probably about to become someone _else’s_ business partner. Something in the restaurant industry, Tony’s vague. He emphasizes, with big ol’ compassionate brown eyes, that none of his other kids have business interests beyond SI on their plate.

Flash can’t remember afterwards whether it was Tony or himself who raised the possibility of Peter― _the_ Spider-Man!―only how easy it was to accept that idea completely. Vision was his prudent choice. It was his business degree and the ghost of all the advice his father never gave him. Peter’s who he wanted to partner with the most. Flash is a huge Spider-Man fan and, besides that, he knows all about (thanks, internet) how smart and gifted the guy is, even outside the super-suit. This is absolutely for the best and Flash almost can’t believe his luck. It takes seconds for him to go from picturing Vision at his side in the boardroom (what boardroom and where are not crucial details at this time) to picturing Peter there.

Tony backs out of the discussion because he can read Flash Thompson’s face like a book, and can therefore tell that things are going to work out. The guy’s obviously going to switch to propositioning Peter with this business offer and it’s exactly what the kid needs. It ensures the Starks still have skin in the game with their own company (Tony has no doubt that Peter will be able to gain influence there after putting in some time with Flash’s social media presence) _and_ it’ll be good for Peter. His son needs something to... bring him back to life. He’s here at the compound, he’s learning from Pepper, but he’s sheltered. He’s hiding. It makes _sense_ for Peter to follow through with this when Flash pitches it. Once this goes through, and Vision comes to an inevitable agreement with Wanda on behalf of SI, Tony will have two kids taken care of. No fine print, no loopholes, just the security he’s always wanted for them. The only thing he’s ever really wanted for them. Tony just has to keep his mouth shut until Thompson makes his move.

* * *

Despite the awkwardness the night before, Harley isn’t hesitant about reminding everyone that he’s driving into Albany today. He restates his intention after brunch―a meal the family usually never eats on purpose, just accidentally if there’s a busy morning and they’re late having breakfast, but they’re being bouji for Flash, he assumes.

The parents declining is no surprise and the invitation wasn’t really for them anyway. Nebula says she’s staying at the compound too; again, this doesn’t shock Harley. His sister’s still taking things slow and being in a city makes her jumpy and paranoid. She doesn’t love cramming into the car with the rest of them either, which doesn’t offend Harley. He hates it too when he’s not behind the wheel.

Pepper can tell that the one person Harley’s hoping to give the slip to is Flash. Still, she makes a point of encouraging their guest to go for the drive. Oh, she frames it as a nice outing for the ‘young people’ (she knows her kids suspect her when she talks like an old lady), but secretly, she needs a break from him. She craves the relief of having her office to herself again, because that’s where Flash keeps returning like a homing pigeon. Last night, after the videos, when she tried to answer emails after neglecting her work during the day to entertain the guest, he followed her in and sat down with a grin. This morning, he appeared again, ready with easy yet numerous questions about her typical daily schedule. Pepper wants to shut herself in, sit in her chair, and have at least an hour where she isn’t tense because she’s anticipating Flash’s knock at her door. It’s supposed to be _her_ space, something her kids and husband have always respected, even in their densest moments. She confesses her motive to Peter, who’ll understand and not argue, like Harley would. The second she casts Flash as an annoyance is the second Harley will start trying to play hot potato with their guest.

Apparently, Flash would rather daytrip than talk business anyway, because he says yes immediately. He continues to talk (just not about Stark Industries) and the Starks tolerate him for the duration of the drive. He’s lucky to have a captive audience for that long, because it doesn’t last once they’ve parked downtown (in a private parking garage since their ride was, as always, ostentatious) and started walking around. Basically, Flash loses them as soon as they have _anything else_ to focus on.

There are a few admirers―there always are when the Starks go out in public like normal people, especially in a group. Peter reluctantly humours a preteen by striking a Spider-Man pose, presenting his wrists as though about to fire off webs. Flash is mollified by the opportunity to take pictures and video of the Starks interacting with their fans. They try to impress on their guest how much they hate the word ‘fan,’ how entitled it sounds, but Flash is in sensationalizing mode now. At least he’s less chatty, silently mapping out all the potential ways to use this new content, when the last of the not-fans moves along.

It’s a Saturday and there’s an outdoor market that delights each of them (maybe even Flash―who knows? They don’t ask him) for different reasons. The draw for Harley is the booth where the local green coalition repairs damaged electronics, or recycles the parts when something can’t be fixed. Drones, hairdryers, whatever. Everybody’s got a specialty. Harley’s a familiar face and they’re happy to chat about his latest project, offering up scraps he might find a use for.

Today, the heap in the recycling bin that’s usually tucked away below their table is so large that the bin’s back behind their chairs instead. Harley motions his siblings over to check it out, eyes lighting up at the pile of potential (Nebula really should’ve come today). This stuff doesn’t look like junk though. Some of it... some of it’s... well, it’s rough, but the pieces have been reconfigured to make tools like nothing Harley’s ever seen. Before he can ask them what’s up, a woman in her late twenties wheels over a dolly loaded with clanking boxes, swishing her dark hair back as she starts to unpack them. It shouldn’t be graceful, but it is.

Harley’s staring. His mouth might be hanging open. Morgan informs him of this before he can put a hand over his little sister’s mouth. It’s not just how pretty this woman is, it’s that he thinks he’s figured out who she is and what she’s doing here. This woman, in fact, is the reason for Harley’s trip into Albany.

He doesn’t want to look like an idiot, so he double-checks with his buddies working the recycling booth, who confirm his theory. The next time the woman wheels a box up to the bins, they wave her over and introduce her to Harley and the rest of the Starks (and Flash, if he’s still hanging around―Harley can’t spare him a glance) as Liz Allan. She’s the person Harley’s been tracking on Twitter, the one with the new tech. If he was his brother Peter, he’d be blurting this out, but Harley schools himself a little better than that, calmly shaking her hand.

She’s attractive, she’s independent, she’s into building her own tech by hand! When she begins an easy conversation with the Starks, Harley’s ready to declare Liz Allan the whole package. Maybe she’s looking at Peter a little too often for his liking, but it’s probably just because she recognizes the true face of Spider-Man, or whatever they were calling it a few years ago when Peter’s identity was blown. Harley’s drawing Liz’s attention back to himself, starting to ask her how she got into the do-it-yourself scrap-repurposing gig, when, from the corner of his eye, he sees two people jaywalking―cutting across the street and aiming right for their group. It’s Wanda and Michelle.

Unfailingly friendly, Wanda leads off with the greetings, mainly directed at Vision, who’s in public looking his most human. She says quickly that she and Michelle drove into Albany early to pick up a few things from a shipping company that wouldn’t make the remote (Wanda rolls her eyes) trip to the Park for delivery, and that their next stop was supposed to be the compound to pay the Starks a visit, so this is a nice coincidence.

MJ agrees so that her best friend doesn’t sound like a stalkerish weirdo, directing all this attention at Vision. (And because it’s the truth.) Speaking of stalkerish weirdoes, she’s trying hard not to glance towards Peter, because that never ends well. Instead, her gaze lands on someone behind them. A woman who’s just straightening up from a crouch...

Peter’s standing angled at his brother’s side and notices Michelle suddenly tense up. Reacting offensively or defensively is something he’s overly familiar with, and he can’t quite tell which this is―offense or defense―but when he turns his head to see what she’s looking at, he spots their new acquaintance, Liz, going similarly rigid. Liz waves first, and it’s a tiny gesture. Michelle’s returning wave is even smaller. Her hand hardly lifts, fingers barely flare back to show her palm. Peter’s frowning. What the hell is this about? It’s _mysterious_ , even for Michelle, who’s never been an open book. He’s curious. It’s a curse.

He misses the end of the conversation and their neighbours are hurrying back across the road to their car, parked against the opposite curb. His brother hops onto the edge of the booth, blissfully ignorant of whatever wordless weirdness just happened, and Peter can tell that he has a string of questions ready for Liz, but she’s wearing a regretful smile and gesturing to the boxes. Duh, Peter realizes, she didn’t come here to hang around like they did. Liz actually has _work_ to do―trading parts and doing her own scavenging for what she needs.

It’s Harley who suggests that, if now’s no good, maybe Liz could meet them for coffee in a couple of hours, provided she’s not just passing through town. Peter feels the lightness of relief when she informs them that she’s going to be in Albany for a little while. And he feels something flip-floppier when Liz looks right at him with a shy smile and says she’d be happy to grab a coffee later.

They discover that Flash has been filming himself walking around the market and collect him before moving on. As they hit the rest of the places they planned to go, plus everywhere Harley and Morgan have the impulse to stop, Peter thinks back to how Liz and Michelle responded to each other. Flash is in his own world and his other siblings are distracted, so Peter walks along next to Vision, explaining what he saw.

An abrupt change in body language is the kind of thing Vision would’ve picked up on during a standoff, or a fight, or the kind of event the Starks get invited to, where politicians and businesspeople feel each other out before bringing in contracts and lawyers. Or in any situation where Wanda wouldn’t have been present because, truthfully, his full attention was on her. He struggles, as Peter recaps what took place between the two women, to determine who was in the right, if there _was_ a right, but it’s impossible with no clue to the context. Michelle is their neighbour and Wanda’s best friend. Liz Allan is an admirably enterprising woman whose interests overlap amazingly well with their own. Vision’s prepared to side with either of them, only he can’t figure out what happened any better than Peter can and reluctantly informs his brother of such.

Though Flash was apparently present for no more than the first few moments of their introduction with Liz, Harley and Morgan go on about her so much that Flash decides he might begin a new series to talk about what he thinks of Liz Allan taking their state by storm with her inventions. Finally, Flash is discussing something Harley’s interested in. He starts giving their guest pointers about where to go for research, who to follow on Twitter for mentions of Liz and her tech, why her work is so cool... Beyond that, he isn’t sure what Flash should focus on. Liz’s backstory or her present? The parts she’s found or the things she’s turned them into? It can’t come together in his mind until they know Liz better, but Harley’s already predisposed towards liking whatever they’re going to find.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Flash! It's hard to keep all the attention on yourself when Harley and Peter clap eyes on Liz. But any tension between the brothers will be far less than whatever's going on between Liz and Michelle. Peter's going to hear _all_ about that (Liz's side, anyway) in the next chapter!


	8. Liz's Tale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "'I had not thought Mr Darcy so bad as this―though I have never liked him, I had not thought so very ill of him―I had supposed him to be despising his fellow creatures in general, but did not suspect him of descending to such malicious revenge, such injustice, such inhumanity as this!'" - _Pride and Prejudice_ , ch. 16

Flash is full-on vlogging as they head to the coffee shop to meet up with Liz Allan. It’s clearly the Starks who are the attraction (and who are _right there_ as Flash rambles on excitedly about them to his phone) because the shop, no offense to the owners, isn’t anything special. Its ordinariness is its greatest asset though; when they walk in, it isn’t crowded, meaning there will be enough seats to relax for a while and less chance of being interrupted for a selfie or an autograph.

Strangely, Flash is still really into the coffee shop’s vibe. It’s possible he uses the term ‘hallowed halls’ (Morgan turns to her brothers to ask, ‘ _what_ halls?’, since it’s a standard café layout with one big room and a counter) in an awestruck voice. The Starks feel uncomfortably _present_ as their guest continues to act as though he’s on a pilgrimage of superhero hangouts. He examines everything as Vision pays for the group’s order and, popping the lid on and off his fully recyclable coffee cup when it’s handed to him, loiters at the counter to very informally interview the barista. Actually, Peter thinks Flash might just be flirting (he even puts his phone away) and almost slops his cappuccino when he laughs, seeing the guy lean back in confusion at Flash’s attempts to be charming. But Flash perseveres and once the barista’s buttered up a little by praise on how the service here is so much better than in Manhattan, where Flash is from, he has his own elbows on the counter, drawn in by Flash’s interest. Their guest lays out compliment after compliment, like he’s dealing cards, and Peter hopes somebody’s writing this stuff down. It’s like a year’s worth of testimonials.

Flash saunters back over with satisfaction to where the rest of them are lounging around a table with four chairs. Before he can unnecessarily recap his exchange with the barista, before one of the siblings can offer Flash their chair and drag another one over to the table, before Vision can convince Morgan that she does _not_ , in fact, require more whipped cream on her hot chocolate, Liz enters the coffee shop.

Peter stands abruptly, banging the back of his legs into his chair and reaching back to stop it from skidding on the floor. Harley might be laughing at him. Peter’s trying not to look at Liz in _that_ way, but he can’t help it. Removed from the initial context of being the woman whose business his brother’s been tracking on Twitter, he’s seeing her in a different way. He likes how her loosely draped sweater is tucked into her tight, light-wash jeans. He likes the girlish way she tucks her hair behind her ear as she walks over to them. It makes Peter wonder if she was Snapped, or whether they’d be about the same age if he _hadn’t_ been. There’s just a _connection_.

Harley tries to gain Liz’s attention, so Morgan does too, but Peter’s got the faster reflexes, and what the hell are they for if not for beating his brother to Liz? Distractedly, he shoves Flash into the chair he was sitting in, then pulls one out for Liz at the next table over―a table with only two chairs. She sits down, looking at him like he read her mind. Peter gives a nervous, relieved laugh before either of them have said a word. Liz smiles.

“Hey,” Harley starts, “can I ask why the fu―”

Pretending to get comfortable in his chair, Peter kicks his foot out, hitting Harley in the shins. His brother grunts and, thankfully, takes the hint. It’s probably for their mom’s sake, since she told them to behave in front of the guest (Flash) and Harley’s retaliation wouldn’t be as subtle as Peter’s opening attack.

“I mean, uh, why isn’t there more foam on your drink?” he corrects, peering into Morgan’s almost-finished hot chocolate. “Come on, kid.” He plucks her sleeve and, temporarily defeated, guides his ecstatic sister back to the counter for a whipped cream top-up. Vision doesn’t have the heart to protest.

Liz starts talking to Peter with zero awkwardness, and though he can’t say the same for himself when he replies, he does feel more at ease speaking to her than he does to most strangers. She’s sparklingly intelligent, but doesn’t make it difficult for Peter while he’s overcoming being tongue-tied, readily adapting as their conversation hits a natural stride. Which means she’s even more intelligent than he’s guessed. _Wow_.

Placed firmly in the background, Flash’s only reprieves from oblivion are frequent trips to the counter to flirt with the barista in between the smattering of other customers.

Harley lets the Peter-monopolizing-Liz thing go on for a while because it’s, like, a nice thing to do. When Flash is at the table, Harley makes an effort to talk to him, but everything Flash wants to discuss is dumb. Just, _dumb_. And he doesn’t have the patience for it. Gradually, he drops the slack of the conversation, forcing Vision to dutifully pick it up, and shuffles his chair towards Peter’s table.

Peter isn’t playing tug-of-war with his brother on purpose―Liz isn’t a rope, or any kind of object―but Harley keeps butting into their conversation, hammering Liz with questions about her business, and Peter needs him to quit it. Smiling and nodding like he loves nothing more than having Harley intrude on his almost-sort-of date with Liz, Peter slides the sleeve off his cup. He dismantles it without looking down and reshapes it into a paper projectile. With a flick, Peter sends it sailing onto the other table to land in front of Morgan. She lights up; Nebula’s been teaching her to play and she’s insatiable for this game. She tries to get their dad to play at home, but he always tells Morgan she’s better off learning from Nebula, the true master of paper football.

Without Nebula here, Morgan’s next obvious choice for a match is Harley, her partner in crime. At first, Harley barely glances over, only paying attention long enough to encourage his sister to challenge Vision or Flash instead. He’s keeping Liz engaged, getting ahead of Peter, who’s basically shut out of the conversation because Harley’s the one who’s put in the hours on Twitter to learn enough to be able to ask questions. But out of the corner of his eye, he sees Morgan playing Vision and losing. Ok, Vision does have a supercomputer brain that can unfailingly calculate the perfect angle and force to score, but Morgan’s missing the target _entirely_ , every time. Harley narrows his eyes. Is his sister losing on purpose to make him feel bad for pawning her off on Vision?

The conversation with Liz is slipping away from Harley as he glances more and more frequently towards his siblings. When he sees enough to be certain that Morgan’s losing on purpose and that it’s to give Flash a false impression of her talent for paper football, Harley’s torn away completely. He shoves back to his original table and whispers into Morgan’s ear that they should play Flash and Vision as a team. Maybe even bet money on it. Then they can fleece Flash for sport! Liz is forgotten.

Not by Peter. His brother gets a lot of credit for being the most manipulative sibling, but Peter isn’t totally incompetent. He knew Morgan and Harley wouldn’t be able to resist... although, it’s troubling how Harley appears to be slapping bills down on the table to match the stack Flash is laying out. God, he hopes they’re ones. Oh well, Vision can handle that. Peter smiles at Liz.

Getting to know her in bits and pieces has been great, but he can’t deny that there’s one thing he’s really curious about. He can’t just _ask_ Liz what’s going on between her and Michelle Jones though. It’d be rude! It’d seem like he was being a creep, watching them watch each other! It’d be totally―

“So, how long has MJ lived around here?” Liz asks, startling Peter.

“Um, what?” he wonders, blinking and flustered.

“Michelle? Jones? I’m guessing she’s living in the area, since you guys seemed to know her. Back at the market,” Liz prompts with a soft smile, like Peter’s memory needs any jogging.

“Right,” he replies weakly. “Uh, two months. Maybe a little less.” Liz is nodding thoughtfully, but Peter’s still curious. “I guess you know her from New York City? Or wherever her house with all the books is, the one people love to talk about.” He tries not to scowl at the memory of irritating days with Brad.

“Oh, that place,” Liz says with a laugh. It’s a nice sound, but there’s a confusing note to it that Peter can’t understand. “Her family’s cottage in Vermont. Yeah, I know her from there, and New York. We grew up together in the city, but the Joneses used to invite me up to the cottage for holidays.”

 _Grew up together_? But... but... they didn’t even say ‘ _hi_.’

“That’s fair,” she says, laughing again at the surprise Peter can feel all over his face. “I know she and I didn’t exactly have a warm reunion. Are you... do you know MJ well?”

“Not well enough to call her ‘MJ,’” Peter laughs, “which is fine by me.” Liz raises her eyebrows for more and he gives it to her with an understated shrug. “I stayed at her place recently and we don’t really get along well enough to be stuck together for any length of time. I mean, I would’ve guessed that anyway, but now I can confirm it.”

As soon as he explains, he worries that he’s been too harsh. Liz hasn’t been totally clear yet as to the state of her friendship with Michelle, so he’s probably fucked up, gone too far.

“I’m a little too close to the situation to give my two cents,” she says tentatively, shoulders tilting towards him. Despite her words, the posture seems confidential and Peter feels himself leaning forward. “I’m biased. _But_ , I will say that you tell a different story from the way most people talk about her.”

Oh, shit, he thinks. Liz’s voice isn’t accusatory though. More like intrigued.

“Are you sure?” Peter checks. “We―Michelle and I―were at an event together the first time I met her, and I don’t think the other guests exactly warmed to her. She came off pretty arrogant, and, believe me, it’s hard to stand out as arrogant in a room of senators and CEOs. I think anybody who met her that night would say pretty much the same as me.”

Liz looks like she’s digesting this, swirling her coffee and taking a sip. It might be cold by now. Peter would offer to buy her another one, but he kinda doesn’t want to interrupt her insights into his quietly judgemental neighbour.

“Sorry,” she says after a few moments, laughing self-consciously. “I’m trying to think of what to say because ‘that’s too bad’ just wouldn’t be genuine and I don’t want to lie to you, Peter―” Her warm brown eyes meet his and his face heats up. “―even for the sake of avoiding an awkward pause.”

“Oh,” Peter manages, enchanted, “thanks.”

“I knew MJ as the quiet artist who shot to popularity for her political cartoons and caricatures.” The expression on Liz’s face turns a little mocking, a little hurt, maybe. “Too talented and too perceptive, with too cutting a sense of humour. Everyone either raved about how deserving she was of her success, as if her family’s money didn’t help her career at all, or was intimidated by her and stayed out of her way. She’s always known what she’s doing. People will see Michelle Jones _precisely_ the way she wants them to see her.” Liz taps the table with her index finger, but it reinforces her point as powerfully as if she thumped it with her fist.

“I definitely wouldn’t describe her as friendly,” Peter jokes to lighten the mood. Liz seems relieved to smile again. She stretches her long legs beneath the table and their shoes bump.

“I wonder how long she’ll stay around here.”

Liz’s spoken thought is less direct, more contemplative, than her exacting review of a minute ago. Peter frowns in consideration.

“She didn’t _say_ anything about leaving. I hope...” he starts. “I hope you’ll stick around for a while, even with Michelle nearby.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Liz replies playfully and Peter blushes again. “MJ can avoid me if she wants to. I won’t get into those childish games with her. I’m not going to play hide-and-seek when what she did to me is no secret. Or, at least,” she adds kindly when his eyebrows scrunch together in confusion, “it doesn’t have to be.”

He fumbles for words for a second.

“You can tell me if you feel comfortable,” Peter finally offers. “If it’ll help?”

“I think it will,” she says softly. “Thanks, Peter.”

“Before you start though...” He points at her coffee. “Another one?”

* * *

Peter’s siblings and Flash decamp from the coffee shop, though he only half-notices when Harley punches him in the shoulder and Vision says they’ll meet him back at the car in an hour. Peter’s too engrossed in Liz’s story.

“What I said before,” she’s explaining as the door clangs shut on his family, “about the Joneses and their money, well I was just using it to demonstrate that MJ’s only received a certain level of recognition because the way’s been smoothed for her. I still respect people who have wealth and accomplish things for themselves.” Liz gives Peter a knowing nod. Of course she knows he’s Spider-Man, the _world_ knows. But he appreciates the subtly. “Her parents were wonderful people. Seeing MJ again... it’s a little painful because it reminds me of them. Honestly, I’d love to be able to forgive everything she’s done to me, but the one thing I can’t get over is how she went against her parents’ wishes. Some of their _last_ wishes, actually, though we didn’t know the first Snap was right around the corner.”

She pauses for a drink and Peter’s on the edge of his seat. _Literally_. He scoots back so he won’t topple into the table. This story is _fascinating_. Sad, but fascinating. Who doesn’t have their own Snap tragedy? Who hasn’t suffered because of what Thanos did? The fact that Liz and Michelle had to go through that, but then Michelle did something to continue making Liz suffer... Well, it’s heartless. He can’t imagine wanting to hurt this person, this beautiful woman with the imploring eyes, sitting across from him.

When Liz speaks again, it’s like she’s delved too far into her troubles and has to retreat to more mundane topics. Ok, Peter can grant her that. Part of him (a big part) wants to reach out and put his hand over hers. He doesn’t because he’s found that, sometimes, drawing attention to grief makes it more unbearable. He won’t upset her like that. Instead, he listens to Liz talk about her arrival in Albany. As she implied before when he asked how she knows Michelle, it’s a return to New York.

“A region like Tech Valley was the ideal place to come back to,” she says. “I’ve been surrounded by technology my whole life, and now my business... but you know what that’s like.” Peter smiles in agreement. “Anyway, it’s been kind of a homecoming. I find, too, that being in a smaller place like this is nicer than going back to NYC. I’m a pretty social person and the city feels a little soulless to me now. Albany’s less lonely. I’ll have to go back to Oregon eventually though. Can’t be a nomad forever.”

Peter’s gotten the feeling that Liz enjoys her work―tracking down and repurposing tech, solving problems, learning as she goes―but it sounds like she isn’t into the lifestyle that goes along with it.

“You want to, uh, settle down?” he asks. It sounds too grown-up. He retreats into his coffee.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” Liz confesses, dark eyes almost pleading. “The business, yes, but not the wandering. Not the hotels and the gas stations and the gas station bathrooms.” She laughs. “Oregon was supposed to be home and it would be, if MJ hadn’t been so determined otherwise.”

“ _No_.”

“ _Yes_. Her parents were the ones who helped my mom and I move out there. They wanted to keep helping us, until we were on our feet. They were like family to me, or like godparents, at least.” Liz shakes her head regretfully. “I can’t do them justice in words. All they ever did was try to take care of us and I know, even after I lost my mom, that they would’ve wanted to take care of _me_.” Peter nods helplessly. “But once her parents were gone―dead,” she clarifies with shining eyes. “They were on a plane when the Snap happened, so when they returned... you know.” He knows. “Once they were gone,” Liz repeats, blinking fast, “MJ cut me off. To put it bluntly.”

“What the _fuck_?!” Peter gasps. He stares at the tabletop in horror, giving Liz an unobserved moment to wipe her eyes and blow her nose with a napkin. Thoughts of legal agreements flood his mind, something he’s been learning about from his own mom. “So, there was no contract between the Joneses and your mom? Nothing written down?”

He glances back up and Liz looks stoic, hair pushed back over her shoulders.

“There was never anything in writing. They _trusted_ each other. I don’t think there was ever even a handshake. Still, MJ was fully aware. We were teenagers when her parents started helping us out. I’m sure you’ve noticed that Michelle Jones is _not_ ignorant, so you must see that what she did was intentional.”

“It couldn’t have been anything else,” he agrees.

“We might’ve been close as kids, but I don’t even recognize who she’s become. She hates me.”

Peter wants to deny it and make Liz feel better, but that’s not something he has the power to control.

“ _God_ ,” he says, handing her more napkins as tears leak from the corner of her eye despite her obvious efforts not to cry. “If people _knew_.”

Liz sniffs.

“I don’t think MJ will be golden forever, but it won’t be me who exposes her. I couldn’t disgrace her parents’ memories like that.”

“I see,” Peter says. And he _does_ see. He sees so plainly what a strong woman Liz is, to not be beaten down by what’s happened to her. All these things she doesn’t deserve. “How could she have done that to you?”

He says it aloud without meaning to, caught up in watching Liz’s face. She answers him.

“The only motive I’ve ever been able to think of, though I try not to think about it at all, is envy. It makes no sense, right? But it wasn’t the money she was jealous of. Of _course_ not. It was that her parents loved me. Not more than her, but maybe in a less complicated way.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was more expressive as a child, while MJ was always more reluctant, less talkative, more moody. She’s competitive. I knew that. I just didn’t know our whole childhood was built on her measuring the two of us against each other.”

“I had no idea,” Peter says quietly. “I didn’t really _like_ Michelle, but this is so awful. I’m so sorry.” He shakes his head. “I just assumed she kind of hated _everybody_. Although...” He recalls a discussion during his stay at the Park. “I _do_ remember her saying that if she decided she didn’t like someone, she’d never learn to. She sounded almost proud of that.”

Liz huffs out a bitter laugh.

“I can’t even comment on that.”

Peter sits, draining his coffee. The caffeine’s keeping him worked up, his foot’s bouncing on the floor, but that isn’t what started it. He’s genuinely _angry_ about this and having to confront injustice directly after so long is making him anxious.

“That’s the shittiest thing I’ve ever heard,” he mumbles. Then, louder, “You were basically her _family_.”

This is the element that really touches a nerve with him. His mind is on Nebula. If you take someone in, protect them, shelter them, help them―whatever that looks like―you don’t turn around and betray them. Family is family.

“Our moms were friends before we were even born,” Liz reflects. “I came first, then MJ. We were always at each other’s apartments, her parents’ cottage, the same schools. I was so proud to pave the way for her. When I was younger, I told people she was my little sister. My dad...” She stumbles here and for the first time, Peter feels that it isn’t because she’s overwhelmed by sadness. Liz goes on before he can think too hard about it. “He’s in jail. I don’t like to talk about that, but he was trying to take care of us.”

“That’s fine,” he assures her. “You don’t have to.”

“After... He wanted to protect us from the ugliness of seeing someone we love in a courtroom, then a prison uniform, and that’s why my mom and I moved out west after he was arrested. That’s when the Joneses offered to help pay for our cross-country move. For our payments on our new place. For my first year of college.”

“Michelle just seems so _honest_ ,” Peter says. “Brutally honest. You’d think that would’ve made her uphold your parents’ agreement if nothing else did.”

“I wish it had. MJ’s honesty is a great quality for her work, and probably invaluable to people who don’t care so much about compassion, but it definitely never helped me. Her cousin, I think, appreciates it. Maybe it takes growing up in the shadow of a government cover-up to be grateful for MJ’s particularly insensitive brand of truth.”

“This is Monica you’re talking about?” He remembers Brad’s teeth-grindingly excessive praise of the woman.

“Mhmm. Monica Rambeau.”

“What’s she like?”

Liz sighs and rest her chin on her fist.

“A lot like MJ.”

“Which we’ve established isn’t a compliment.”

He thinks her sudden smile means he’s right.

“Monica’s hardworking, ambitious, doesn’t listen to the word ‘no.’ I looked up to her when I was little, how she really stood for things. I didn’t care about planes in particular, the maneuvers and drills she was doing as a young pilot, so Monica talked to me about the mechanics of it instead. The engine, the physics of flight. Those were the things that fascinated me.” Liz wears a wistful expression. “She must be about forty now and probably still in the Air Force. Military service ran in that branch of MJ’s family.”

They get sidetracked talking about physics―Liz obviously didn’t know the can of worms she was opening there. And flight? Come on, Peter is Iron Man’s son and Vision’s brother! He has a vested interest in things that make people fly.

Another customer in the coffee shop mentions the time, which reminds Peter of getting back to the car soon, and _that_ reminds him of Wanda saying she and Michelle had planned to stop at the compound on their way home. He tells Liz that he should start heading out and she offers to walk with him. As they make their way, Peter contemplates Michelle’s friendship with Wanda. It seems so _wrong_ now and he can’t help bringing it up with Liz while he has the chance.

“Ok, so, this doesn’t make sense,” Peter says earnestly, presenting Liz with the facts of Michelle’s living arrangement. “Wanda is maybe the sweetest person I’ve ever met, genuinely, and Michelle’s best friend. How can that be possible? Do you know Wanda?”

“No, but my knowledge of MJ’s life after I was no longer a part of it is pretty spotty.”

“Well, Wanda’s great,” he summarizes. “It’s impossible that she knows any of what you told me about.”

“I bet you’re right. MJ can make friends when she wants to, provided that a healthy portion of that relationship depends on the other person admiring her artistic abilities and lending an ear to her conspiracy theories.” He glances over at Liz and sees her eyelashes flicker like she wants to roll her eyes. She doesn’t though.

When they’re on the right block, Peter spots his family approaching from the opposite direction. He’s relieved that they haven’t been waiting around; time kinda got away from him somewhere between their impromptu physics discussion and staring at Liz’s face.

Flash’s voice is loud and it carries. He’s expressing how pumped he is to talk something over with Fury when Liz touches Peter’s arm.

“Fury? He doesn’t mean Nick Fury, does he? Director Nick Fury?”

“Um, yeah,” Peter says, confused. “I don’t think he knows anybody else with that name. I sure don’t.”

He laughs, but Liz is serious. She stops on the sidewalk, so Peter waves at Vision, trying to communicate that he’ll be there in a minute.

“Flash is obsessed with superheroes and Fury’s helping him turn it into a career, basically,” he explains. “I have no idea how or why that works, but it sounds like a fairly recent thing.”

“Did you know that Fury is sort of Monica Rambeau’s uncle? Meaning,” she continues, before Peter can ask how someone could be ‘sort of’ an uncle, “Fury’s sort of MJ’s uncle too.”

He’s still lost on the particulars of the family tree. Liz hurriedly explains.

“Monica’s mother, Maria, is married to Carol Danvers―”

“Her I know,” Peter offers.

“―and Carol and Fury are really close, like siblings. So, Fury’s more or less Maria’s brother-in-law, and Maria is MJ’s aunt...”

“ _Oh_. Ok, I didn’t know any of that, besides who Carol Danvers is.” He reflects for a second. “Wow, small world. Or, uh, universe, I guess, with Ms. Danvers thrown in there. It fits though, for Flash, Michelle, and Fury to be connected. I know what the first two are like and my dad’s been trying to keep the third away from me for _years_.”

Liz smiles.

“I have a vague memory of meeting Fury at some extended family thing the Joneses hosted at their cottage.”

“And what did you think of him?”

“Scary.” They laugh. “Since then, I’ve heard whispers of his reputation for being pervasively controlling. I get that he organized the Avengers, but did he have to be such a jerk about it? I mean, is he really so incredible at his job, or is he just an asshole?”

Peter laughs harder at her surprising critique.

“I think your theory has merit.”

After exchanging numbers, they make their way over to his family and it’s a leisurely goodbye since Peter didn’t really give anyone else much of a chance to talk to Liz at the coffee shop. Oops. He’s quiet now, listening. He admires how good she is at talking to people. She’s just _natural_. Maybe it’s something he can pick up from her.

It’s a silent ride home for him, though Morgan, Harley, and Flash make sure the volume level remains unbelievably high (Peter suspects that Vision is shutting out their noise entirely in order to drive safely). Every thought he has is about Liz and everything she said. Right now, it’s too much for Peter to mentally put in order and share―even if there was a chance of his voice being heard.

* * *

Peter comes to Vision in the evening to tell Liz’s tale. She _did_ say it wasn’t a secret. Anyway, Vision isn’t really the rumour-spreading type. It troubles him, Peter can tell, can see Vision struggling to reconcile this new version of Michelle with the clear devotion she’s won from Wanda―the same thing Peter was mentally stumbling over. But Vision’s also reluctant to doubt Liz. He tends to take an ‘innocent until proven a hideous backstabber’ approach with new people. It’s true for most of their family, except for those who believe the exact opposite. The more moderate viewpoint is why Peter’s telling all this to Vision instead of, say, Nebula, who might’ve listened to some of the story and left to interrogate Liz for herself. Not a fantastic way to make friends.

The _frustrating_ part about telling Vision is his reluctance to choose sides.

“It seems as though there’s been some sort of miscommunication, perhaps affecting both women equally,” he ponders while Peter scrunches his face up in severe doubt. “No, now listen, Peter. From Miss Allan’s story, it’s evident that both she and Miss Jones have experienced their fair share of hardship. With those pressures, some element of the relationship may have been distorted. And of course,” Vision adds, “the two Snap events created all kinds of disruption and chaos. Are there not many things which might have estranged the friends over time?”

“Yeah, I _guess_ ,” Peter impatiently concedes, “but I don’t get how you never think anyone’s done anything wrong _ever_.”

“Perspective,” Vision replies with a wry smile. “Before you dismiss Miss Jones as a confirmed villain, consider how unlikely it is that she would willfully hobble the opportunities of a close friend. Can you imagine her doing such a thing to Wanda?” He clears his throat unnecessarily and corrects it to, “Miss Maximoff. Can you truly believe that Wanda would be so completely... hoodwinked?”

“Hoodwinked?” Peter contains his laugh behind a smirk.

“ _Yes_ ,” his brother insists. “Surely, you haven’t forgotten the extent of Wan―Miss Maximoff’s―”

“For the love of god, just say ‘Wanda.’”

“Alright, the extent of _Wanda’s_ powers. She would not be the easiest person to deceive.”

“Then we’re weighing Wanda being fooled against Liz telling the truth! It didn’t sound like she was making it up,” Peter says firmly. “All those details? Her dad in prison? Trips to the cottage? Learning about planes from Michelle’s cousin? There’s way too much to keep straight! Never _once_ did Liz look like she was making something up on the spot.”

“Then I’m unsure what to think.”

“ _What_?! It’s all there! Come _on_ , Vision.”

Vision can’t find it in himself to agree, but what he will say definitively is that the story can’t come out without hurting Wanda deeply. Peter’s gotten too caught up in other people’s lives and when he reins it in, he sees that he should be paying more attention to the consequences for his brother, who’s clearly head-over-heels for Wanda. That just makes everything more complicated.

Peter has an uneasy night of broken sleep. He wishes people wouldn’t tell him their secrets. The next time it looks like someone’s about to spill, he’s going to climb the nearest wall and sit on the ceiling until they go away and if that’s not _mature_ or whatever, too bad! He could also, he thinks as he falls asleep again, cover his ears and hum his own theme song. He likes answers, not grey areas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morgan's had too much hot chocolate, but at the next table over, Liz is serving TEA.
> 
> You guys! _You guys_! In the next chapter, Peter and MJ are gonna **dance**. Not verbally, not in the sense of dancing around one another. Actually. Dance. *shrieks*


	9. Open House

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "When those dances were over, she returned to Charlotte Lucas, and was in conversation with her, when she found herself suddenly addressed by Mr Darcy, who took her so much by surprise in his application for her hand, that, without knowing what she did, she accepted him." - _Pride and Prejudice_ , ch. 18

It’s the third day of Flash’s stay when some interesting mail arrives. Not prosaic letter-in-the-mailbox mail―for privacy’s sake, the compound isn’t on any postal carrier’s route, so they don’t even have a mailbox―but something special, brought right to their door. When Pepper opens it and greets the Maximoffs, she has to joke that Wanda’s trying to one-up her; where Pepper only hand-addressed Wanda’s invite to the benefit, Wanda has hand-addressed _and_ hand-delivered the Starks’ invite to her open house. Pepper received an electronic version the day after Vision and Peter came home from the Park, but the physical copy is a nice touch as the date of the event approaches, and she compliments Wanda on that.

Vision dithers about intruding on Pepper’s audience with the Maximoffs until Peter grabs his brother by the arm and hauls him over to the visitors. Peter’s determined that nothing as stupid as a fear of interrupting should keep Vision away from Wanda when he so obviously wants to see her. He’d also point out that it’s way less creepy to actually talk to her than to listen longingly from the next room... if they weren’t already in front of Wanda and her brother.

Both Maximoffs are thrilled to see Vision and talk about their separation in exaggerated terms that, from Brad, seem phony and, from Wanda, seem deeply personal and intimate. The way she looks up at Vision’s public, human-esque face and softly says, “It’s been too long,” has Peter wondering if he should leave the room. As Wanda and Vision stare deeply into each other’s eyes or whatever, Peter watches Brad, wondering if he knows about Michelle. Ultimately, observing the guy put a hand on his sister’s shoulder, he decides that Brad’s too protective of Wanda to stand by and let her become closer and closer friends with Michelle if he knew what she’s done. Peter has to conclude that Brad’s just an average jerk.

It takes a long minute, but Peter’s eventually politely acknowledged by Wanda and ignored by Brad (dick―but good riddance). Tony has to be up to something somewhere because he doesn’t put in an appearance, nor do the other Stark kids. Peter still has a feeling that his dad’s plotting something Flash-related.

They don’t stay more than ten minutes because the Park’s apparently in minor chaos ahead of the grand opening, plus Wanda knows the Starks have a guest staying with them. She says all the right things to excuse herself and her brother without rudeness, all the considerate things, and yet it’s Brad who’s out the door first, clearly pushing his daily quota for time spent pretending not to be an asshole. Peter waves to Wanda from the doorway and it’s fortunate his brother’s beside him doing the same thing because otherwise, he’d be flipping Brad off when Wanda looks away. Ah well, maybe another time.

The reminder of the Park’s open house is just what Peter needs. And what Vision needs. And what Tony needs. And what― They’re all looking forward to it for different reasons, ranging from spending time with the hosts to a chance to thrust the duty of babysitting Flash into the hands of a stranger, if only for one night of sweet, sweet freedom. All of their eager anticipation combined probably adds up to more than Wanda’s own, but they’re trying to be chill about it. Except for Tony. Tony’s looked at the event from dozens of angles and decided that, in a way, it’s for Vision. That Wanda likes Vision _so_ much that she’s engineered an entire evening for the excuse of spending time with him. It’s what Tony would do to get Pepper’s attention, and therefore plausible in his mind. The fact that Wanda brought the invitation herself supports his theory.

Vision, very privately, is hoping the same.

Meanwhile, when the invitation circulates to Peter’s hands, what he’s most interested in―scanning past the tasting menu and mention of a DJ―is the allowance of bringing a plus one. Before he can overthink it and realize it’s impulsive and premature and presumptuous, he takes a picture of the invite and texts it to Liz Allan, asking her to come with him. Now, he doesn’t use the word ‘date,’ but he’s optimistic that she likes him as much as he likes her and will therefore want to be his plus one.

Even as he pictures himself introducing her to people and seeing her soft smile again, something detracts from the fantasy. It’s Michelle. Of course she’ll be there that evening. Peter has to wonder if, now that he knows the truth about her, he’ll be able to read her heartlessness in her face and body language. Very quickly, he’s thinking more about Michelle’s presence at the Park than Liz’s. But while Peter’s ok with investigating other people’s backgrounds, lately, he’s hesitant to spend time dismantling his own thought patterns. Escape is outside his own head.

Harley and Morgan are just excited to have an event to go to. And it’s not a Stark event! That means no fancy clothes (Pepper immediately tells them they certainly _will_ be wearing fancy clothes out of respect to their neighbour and her career milestone of opening her own restaurant). Harley’s restlessness has been creeping up on him and the drive into Albany didn’t relieve it; he’s looking forward to getting away from the compound again so soon.

Nebula surprises her family by stating that she plans to attend as well, though, since it has nothing to do with SI, she isn’t required to go (and even being ‘required’ is treated pretty loosely―they’ve never pushed her to show up to anything). They all assumed she’d want to sit it out.

“I plan to make progress on my current project throughout the day,” she informs Tony. “I... understand that there are certain duties I must perform―” Tony tries to contradict this, but Nebula continues with a sharp, “Quiet. It’s foolish to ignore the sanctuary you’ve granted me and this is an inconsequential demand on my energy and time. I might as well come with you.” She stiffens, afraid she’s made herself vulnerable by being too sentimental. “Also, your need to have your entire family with you at all times is pathetically consistent and I do not wish to be an active detriment to your health at this time.”

“God, that’s sweet. I’m getting that embroidered on a pillow and you can give it to me for Father’s Day,” Tony says, beaming at his sullen adopted daughter.

“I can’t believe you’ve invented a holiday as a ploy for recognition of your very average parenting abilities.”

“First of all, I didn’t just make up Father’s Day,” Tony argues.

He chases her out of the room, one hand kneading the wheel of his chair while the other taps at the tablet in his lap, pulling up the history of Father’s Day. With his head down, he doesn’t see Nebula smiling to herself at how successfully she’s baited him.

Flash’s extensive catalogue of Spidey-centric vlogs has kept Peter wary and distant for most of their guest’s visit, but Peter’s in such a good mood about the open house―Liz texts him back saying she’ll still be in the area and can probably come with him―that he’s intentionally talking to Flash before he can think better of it. He asks Flash if he’s planning to go to the event with them, then, because an affirmative answer seems pretty likely to Peter before he’s finished asking the question, if Flash is thinking about networking. The Starks don’t know Wanda’s social circle yet, but it would make sense that she’s invited some of their affluent guests from the benefit, whom she would’ve met that night.

If Peter had the chance to guess, he might think that Flash would be too intimidated to approach established businesswomen and –men in such a setting, but the guy’s response is immediately and unhesitatingly the opposite.

“Hey, if they really know business,” Flash tells him, “they’ll know the internet’s the final frontier and see that I’m quite the savvy businessman myself. I’m sure I can teach them a thing or two.” Peter feels the distressed expression on his face and Flash completely misinterprets it. “Don’t worry, I’ll be splitting most of my time between my _real_ hosts: you guys! I’m hoping to have a long conversation with you in particular, Spider-Man.”

Flash winks at him and Peter’s standing there. Confused. Then, tricked. Then, like the complete idiot he is. Why the hell did he give Flash that opening? Ugh, moron! He’s supposed to be spending the evening with _Liz_. So, not only will he have less time with Liz, that time will be taken up by listening to Flash―just about the worst substitute he can think of. Because he’s Pepper’s son, he manages a limp, “Sure, Flash. Sounds great.”

It isn’t until their brief and horribly derailed conversation is over that Peter can get past his burning regret and feel suspicious. Flash is singling him out. Why would he do that? Sure, he’s freaked out about Peter being Spider-Man at least twice a day since he got here, but he’s never plucked up the courage to corner Peter with such determination. Such... _forewarning_. What the _fuck_?

Tony catches him later in the day and when he brings up Flash in a _heavily_ casual way, Peter feels the trap closing. Something’s up and his dad knows about it. Peter doesn’t want to confront it now, while he’s still annoyed about the prospect of Liz slipping away, or _ever_ , in a just world, but Tony implies with zero subtly that there’s a business opportunity about to come Peter’s way. Peter plays dumb. It avoids (or postpones―he’ll have to wait and see) an argument and helps him continue to live in his favourite state when it comes to thinking about his future: denial. The only addressing of the issue he’ll do in the present is fleetingly allow the possibility that there will be no presentation of any business opportunity, so there’s no point fighting about it.

A violent snowstorm descends and remains until the day before the grand opening. That event becomes the family’s light at the end of the frigid tunnel, preventing them from turning into a bunch of Jack Torrances. Peter thinks it’s amazing how he can be in a place as big as the compound and still feel trapped by the weather. Tony just melts the snow in their laneway, so there isn’t even anything for Peter to shovel. When she’s asked to give a casual mid-exam season presentation at a local college, Liz lets him know, still not offering definitive confirmation on their non-date. The texts become few and far between.

* * *

Peter devotes serious effort to getting his hair arranged just right, using the correct amount of the subtle cologne he received for his birthday, and sitting carefully in the car so his dress pants and shirt don’t get wrinkled, but it’s pointless―when he and his family walk into the finished dining room on the first floor of the Park, he just knows that Liz isn’t there. They hand their outerwear into the coat check and, surreptitiously, he checks his phone. Nothing. Peter can’t imagine showing up alone to a party where he was a plus one, but he’s dangling from the slim possibility that it’s a thing Liz might do because she seemed so at ease in the company of strangers.

He cranes his neck, trying to peer through the packed room of generally good-looking under-thirties. She _could_ be here. Maybe she’s intimidated by the thought of meeting his dad (people are still like that around Iron Man) and that’s why she didn’t travel with them from the compound. Peter ignores how the thought of her being scared of his dad but not a roomful of strangers doesn’t really make sense, his heart anxiously racing. Harley takes pity on him―Peter must look _really_ pathetic―and goes to investigate, Morgan darting through the crowd after him.

Harley can be as charming as he wants to be, and charm gets results. Regularly, he’d boast about the winding path he navigated to emerge with the truth, but when he leads Morgan back to the spot where Peter’s indecisively lingering, his miserable brother doesn’t look up to hearing all that. He skips to the end and informs Peter that Liz isn’t at the opening. Word is, she had a sudden opportunity that took her away from Albany. Somebody said Syracuse, somebody else said all the way to Pittsburgh. Peter’s face falls and Harley goes even farther, hunching to catch his brother’s eye and offer an excuse on Liz’s behalf―she probably forgot to text because she left in a hurry and she can’t do it while she’s driving.

While he’s speaking, Harley spots one of the Park’s residents over Peter’s shoulder.

“The other possibility,” he tells his brother, “is that the pull of hanging out with you wasn’t a match for what might be keeping her away. No offense.”

Confused, Peter turns, probably a little too obviously, and sees Michelle. So Vision told Harley Liz’s story; he sighs. The sight of Michelle with her back to the wall, taking a breather from the guests and delicately gripping a pale glass of wine, makes Peter’s jaw clench. The history lesson Liz provided worsened his opinion of Michelle, for sure, but seeing her in person makes it so much more real. And the timing, with him just finding out Liz won’t be coming and that it’s possibly (probably) Michelle’s fault, heaps Peter’s disappointment onto the destructive pyre of his negative feelings. She’s _unbelievable_. Best friend of the host or not, Peter won’t be going near her tonight. He puts his back to her and does an unfairly shitty job of congratulating Wanda on her event when she appears in front of the three siblings a minute later.

Ned is his salvation. Hate, anger, grudges―these things make Peter feel physically sick, but his best friend’s a genius at noticing when something’s wrong and talking it out with him until Peter’s ok again. They do their conferring at one of the gorgeously decorated tables, snacking on hors d’oeuvres in between. Since Flash showed up, Peter hasn’t enjoyed a lazy afternoon at Ned’s place. This is good. They’re laughing and joking before long, which seems like the perfect time to bring Ned up to speed on Flash’s ridiculousness. They shut up fast when the guy himself grabs the chair next to Peter, spins it around, and sits down at their table. For _fuck’s_ sake. Peter tenses, petrified that this is it, Flash’s big business proposal, but Flash jumps up again soon enough, saying something about comparing notes with the DJ. Oh god, that’s right. DJing is Flash’s side hustle. The poor bastard Wanda hired for tonight doesn’t know what’s coming.

After a minute, this strikes Peter as totally hilarious. He snorts and points it out to Ned. They break down completely into laughter. Peter’s sighing out a last laugh and drying his eyes, reassuring himself that the worst of this party is behind him now, when what’s actually behind him turns out to be Michelle. He’s startled that she wants to talk to him, even more startled that she wants to dance with him, and more startled than is probably medically advisable when he hears himself stammer out a ‘yeah, sure.’

Peter rises and, out of Michelle’s sightline, mouths _what am I doing?!_ to Ned. Ned shrugs desperately and mouths back _I don’t know_.

He trails Michelle close enough not to lose her, through the tables and the people and the wait staff to the smaller, adjacent room that yawns out of the main one. Its permanent fixture is a bar and, for tonight’s event, it also features the DJ’s setup and a dance floor. Peter spots Flash talking to (shouting at) the DJ and really hopes the guy’s flirting rather than telling the man how to do his job.

This arrangement, designed to prioritize the guests’ pleasure over their ability to network, wouldn’t go over so great at an SI function (their guests are only into the waltzing to classical music because it’s fancy), but Wanda’s circle is younger, irreverent, and determined to have a good time after making the trek up from NYC. Peter knows that’s where most of them came from because it was one of the details Wanda generously opened up to him about when he was staying here.

The carefree vibe in the room hits him like a warm gust of wind. Also, the air _is_ warmer in here with a couple dozen people dancing. Peter’s the most out of place person. Well, him and maybe Michelle; when he glances at her from the corner of his eye, she looks like she’s pushing through some major trepidation. For a moment, he shifts from wondering why he agreed to why the hell she asked him in the first place.

They’re hesitating at the edge of the dance floor like a couple of wallflowers when, rather boldly, Michelle turns to him and says, “You wanna wait for a―”

“Faster one?”

“―slower one?”

The DJ’s playing around with kind of a middle ground pop-y beat and Peter figured a faster song would be a way to work out some of his terrified-slash-furious adrenaline while paying more attention to the rhythm than to his partner. The implications of Michelle’s preference for a slow dance are... well, Jesus―they’re baffling. It would mean being face to face and holding her actual body with his actual hands. Forget that they’re 22-year-old adults. The realization makes Peter sneak a look at Michelle and consciously notice what she’s wearing: a dress that rests off her shoulders, hugs her torso, and swishes downward from her hips. It reminds him not unpleasantly of formal wear in prom scenes from ‘80s movies―his favourite decade for classic films. Also, he’s wearing blue and grey while she’s in blues and greens, meaning they kinda match, which intensifies the prom feel.

Peter doesn’t know a swear word in English or Spanish powerful enough to suit how dizzily disarmed he feels. Or maybe he does and he just can’t think of it. What kind of messed up dimension did he walk into tonight? Warning bells should’ve gone off in his head sooner. This is so clearly _wrong_.

“You know,” she says quickly, “because I thought waltzing was more your thing?”

Oh right. Of course Michelle’s suggestion has nothing to do with swaying against Peter, she was just trying to pick something he’d be more comfortable with. Except, wait, that’s considerate of her, which _also_ doesn’t make sense.

Across the room, the DJ decides for them―possibly under the demonic influence of grinning, tipsy Flash―and a faster song plays. Peter doesn’t take her hand to guide her through the cluster of dancers, but he feels the spectre of her touch on his sleeve, right above his elbow. He can neither solve nor make any fucking sense of this situation, so he just turns to face Michelle when he reaches an open spot on the floor and starts, self-consciously, to dance. The music’s blissfully loud now that they’re near the speakers and while they’re awkward with each other, neither of them is rhythmically impaired. Someone bumps into him from behind, forcing Peter closer to Michelle, and he laughs nervously (not that she’ll be able to hear him). Michelle gives him a small but genuine-looking smile in return. Suddenly, it’s almost endurable.

Then the fast song abruptly fades out―so abruptly that Peter hears Flash yell, “Play something slow!” over the brief vacuum of sound. The switch in tempos is jarring and one of many reasons, Peter assumes, that Flash isn’t a full-time DJ. The new song drags and claws and pleads in a way that’s both sort of soothing and also _intensely_ sensual. Peter quits standing there, staring at Michelle, and plants his hands on her waist.

It’s less than a second later that it occurs to him he could’ve just thanked her and booked it back to Ned. There was no contract for more than one song. _Idiot_.

In low heels, she’s taller than him. Probably without them too, though he’s never been this close to her. His fingers slip across the back of her dress, automatically closing her in, and Michelle’s forearms settle on his shoulders, her hands disappearing behind his neck. They’d be able to talk now, if they wanted, but as soon as Peter makes up his mind to get through it in silence, he remembers Liz. Liz, who Michelle betrayed. Liz, who could be here but isn’t. Michelle’s as cornered by this dance as he is and, if he builds up to it, he might be able to confront her about Liz before the chance passes him by.

Starting small, Peter notes that it was a good idea for Wanda to have dancing. Michelle agrees. And says nothing more. Well, he never should’ve expected her to make this easy. Peter licks his lip, not looking at his partner, and brainstorms another attempt he could make at conversation. It’s the strangest feeling, having Michelle’s arms around him. He can smell perfume over his own cologne. _Focus_.

“You could help,” Peter blurts. Their eyes meet.

“What?”

“I’m not carrying this conversation by myself.” It comes out too aggressively and Michelle narrows her eyes at him.

“Well, I didn’t ask you to talk, I asked you to dance.”

“We can’t just...” Peter nods between them, indicating their postures, their hold on each other. “...and not talk. It’s weird.”

Michelle glances around, exasperating him, then jerks her head sideways.

“They’re not talking.”

He looks where she’s indicated. The couple’s making out.

“That’s not funny.”

She shrugs.

“Fine, if you want me to talk, give me a topic.”

The challenging look in her eyes, the one that screams _any topic, I dare you_ , just irritates Peter and he elects to give up.

“I changed my mind,” he says. “We’re done talking.”

But now he’s provoked her. Apparently.

“Can’t you just do one thing at a time or are you a perpetual multi-tasker?” she demands. His hands are on her hips and he doesn’t know how that happened or how to get out of it without attracting her attention. No _way_ is he doing that. He hears himself responding out of what has to be a survival instinct.

“I guess I’m generally a multi-tasker. It’s hard to pick one thing, or nothing. And talking and dancing isn’t exactly painful. _Usually_ ,” he adds, hoping the spite balances out his too-intimate grip on her.

“You say that like it’s a statement instead of an opinion,” Michelle points out. “Are you speaking me for me too?”

She doesn’t sound mad, more like amused, and _that’s_ annoying as hell because he’s sick of her laughing at him from behind her deceptively warm eyes.

“For both of us,” Peter confirms, riled. “I think, I think we might actually be pretty alike in how we feel about socializing. Neither of wants to be the center of attention. We’re stubborn, shy,” he says toughly like she’ll argue or tease him for admitting it about himself, “not really interested in joining a conversation unless it’s on something we’re passionate about, or know a lot about, because we don’t like looking like fools.”

He’s almost panting by the time he’s done, holding her even more securely, and Michelle looks disconcertingly―no, _unnervingly―_ calm in contrast to how Peter feels. If he wasn’t so worked up and distrustful of his own senses, he’d swear he feels her fingers skim the nape of his neck.

“Is that you?” she asks. Her voice is startlingly soft, shockingly earnest. “I don’t know if that’s exactly me either, but I think _you_ think it is.”

“I...” Peter’s at a loss for a moment. “I’m not going to go back and analyze myself just for something to say.”

Michelle doesn’t reply, doesn’t say anything for a short eternity as the song swells. She speaks again, inclining her head slightly towards his. Peter gulps and tries not to make direct eye contact.

“Do you and your siblings go to Albany a lot?”

He’s grateful for how benign the question is and nods. Michelle draws back like, there, she’s done it, she’s been polite enough to ask something almost personal, and now her obligations as the host’s best friend are fulfilled. Something dangerous inside Peter won’t let her off that easy.

“Actually,” he adds, “we’d just met somebody really interesting right before you and Wanda showed up.”

Michelle’s practically straining against his hands now, like she’ll break his hold and stride away. He’s _barely_ taunting her. Can he already have gone too far? Her expression takes on the detached _don’t come near me_ look he remembers from the SI benefit, but she doesn’t say a word, just seems to gather and restrain everything she might be feeling behind that inscrutable face. Peter’s sure he’s screwed up badly and he can’t figure out what to say to fix it, so he keeps his mouth shut.

The song transitions into another, but he can’t think of a worse time for them to separate. For the sake of tonight, for Wanda, for how bad it would look if the son of Tony Stark and Michelle Jones, artist extraordinaire, were photographed fighting, they can’t walk away from each other with anything colder than indifference. Maybe Michelle feels the same, or she just doesn’t notice because she’s too far inside her own head, but her arms are still encircling his neck.

Finally, she speaks.

“People tend to like Liz.” This doesn’t leave Michelle’s lips as a compliment. More of a chilly verdict. “She’s definitely ‘interesting.’ One of the most interesting things about her is her _stories_.”

“You’re in some of them.”

Their eyes lock.

“Like you said,” Peter reminds Michelle, her words from that afternoon upstairs coming back, “people are who they are.”

A tense moment stretches out until...

She whips her head around, shattering their stare, and Peter sees that Wanda’s touched her friend’s back. Wanda hasn’t ventured onto the dance floor alone―she’s being expertly supported by a dazed-eyed Vision. While Michelle’s not looking at Peter, he takes a deep, steadying breath. For a minute there, he forgot they aren’t alone.

Facing him again, she says, “What were we talking about? Wanda distracted me.”

“Nothing. I think we might as well admit defeat; this conversation thing’s not gonna happen.”

Michelle looks cautiously into his eyes.

“Read any good books lately?” The smirk in the corner of her mouth is almost maybe trying to be a smile.

“None that you would’ve heard of. And vice versa, probably,” Peter says quickly so she won’t think he was being a snob. “I don’t think our tastes in books have a lot of overlap.”

She shrugs lightly.

“Maybe our different knowledge bases will make our discussion more interesting. Or we can apply the viewpoints of our contrasting disciples to the same topic.”

“I don’t... I don’t think I’m really in the right mindset to talk about books,” Peter begs off. Wow, the DJ is _seriously_ not helping him out here. The song’s being looped and teased to unnatural length. This dance might never end.

“Too caught up in the moment?”

“Right,” he agrees without really listening.

She remains silent long enough for him to start thinking back to what they were saying before Wanda’s appearance sidetracked them, then to what Michelle said in the past that Peter brought up.

“Another thing you said,” he begins carefully, “was that you couldn’t learn to like someone. That you never change your mind about a person once you’ve made it up. I guess you must pay close attention to anyone who comes into your life, so that you’ll know if you need to make up your mind about them. Like, in a negative way.”

“Yeah...”

“And it’s always your direct experience that you base your decision on?” Peter’s hitting some kind of stride here. “Not assumptions or, or extrapolating from a single behaviour to predict the worst about somebody?”

She’s frowning.

“Not on purpose.”

“I can see how you’d wanna decide right the first time, since it’s the also the last time.”

Michelle dips her chin to look at him square.

“Are you going somewhere with this?”

“Just thinking out loud. Trying to...” Peter shakes his head in overwhelmed confusion. “...to figure you out.”

There’s a sudden tightness around her eyes, but it’s beyond him to attribute it to a particular emotion. She’s hard―nearly _impossible_ ―to read.

“How’s that coming along?"

“It’s really _not_ ,” he says candidly, lifting a hand from her hip for a useless gesture. He swallows as he cautiously touches her again, but it’s more like choking. They aren’t swaying anymore. “You seem to be one way with one person and the complete opposite with someone else. It’s like you’re two separate people!”

She lifts her eyebrows at him and she doesn’t have to speak for Peter to know what she’s implying. It’s pretty pot-kettle of him, the dork formerly known as _Spider-Man_ , to accuse her of being two separate people.

“It’s not the same,” he says defensively.

“Because you always managed to gain control of your narrative, even when there were two?” Her voice has a sly fierceness that pulls him in and makes his spine go rigid. “I know your new friend, so I know what you’ve been told. You don’t want to figure me out,” she tells him, shaking her head.

Peter narrows his eyes at her.

“Don’t I?”

“Not now, not from Liz’s version. Whatever you’re dying to say won’t do either of us any good.”

“Oh, like I’m going to get a chance like this again,” he says with a sarcasm he doesn’t recognize.

Her expression is entirely closed off.

“Who am I to get in the way of a Stark’s good time?”

With these final words, Michelle turns her back on him and sound comes flooding into Peter’s senses as he watches her dodge other guests to slip away.

* * *

MJ plucks a fresh glass of wine from a circulating tray in the main dining room, full of happily chattering people, and retreats to an unoccupied table. When she gets there, she’s too restless to sit, so she paces, getting nearer and nearer to a corner of the room before she gives in and stays there, allowing her back to slump into the wall. The wine isn’t to drink, just to hold, and she briefly occupies her other hand with twisting her hair up off her neck, then letting it fall. She exhales. She’s cooling off now―emotionally as well as physically―and everything she forgot about while Peter was staring her in the face, flaunting what he ‘knows’ about the kind of person she is, is coming back. _Peter_. He’s gullible and open and she hasn’t been nice to him, hasn’t let herself be. MJ forgives him and it feels good. She can _breathe_. She remembers now: it’s not his fault. It’s Liz’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL?!?
> 
> The next chapter's a long one! Things at the open house go from bad to worse (aka Starks on Parade) and Flash wants to have a little chat with Peter :)


	10. Business Proposal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Elizabeth blushed and blushed again with shame and vexation." - _Pride and Prejudice_ , ch. 18

Peter wanders into the dining room with the vague idea of finding his nearest family member and nodding along to whatever conversation they’re involved in. Being alone here isn’t an option, someone will come up to him with, ‘Hey, didn’t you used to be Spider-Man?’ and then he won’t be able to think.

Brad proves him right, intercepting Peter as he spots Nebula heading for the corridor to the kitchen, before he can get over to her.

The guy’s shitty mask of friendliness is one eye-twitch away from devolving into a sneer.

“You know what I heard?” Brad asks.

Comebacks, while tempting, won’t help end this conversation any faster, so Peter reluctantly sets that option aside.

“What’s that?” he responds tightly.

“That you’ve got yourself a new BFF. Liz Allan. Daughter of a convicted criminal, you know,” Brad observes, one hand in his pocket while the other nonchalantly swirls a martini. Peter’s own hand clenches into a fist at his side. “Let me give you a friendly tip: don’t believe everything she tells you. MJ didn’t do shit to her. She’s been more than fair. Liz, meanwhile...”

Brad trails off and glances around before speaking again. Peter wants to get away, but Nebula’s gone and he’s too self-conscious to stride aimlessly towards strangers. He can't stand how this looks, Brad practically whispering in his ear―like they’re scheming. It’s sleazy and dishonest and Peter wants to shrug it off, this guy and this house and this bullshit.

“Now, I haven’t heard specifics,” Brad goes on, delicately lifting the toothpick from his drink and sliding an olive free with his teeth, “just that nothing is MJ’s fault and that she can’t _stand_ ―” he emphasizes, chewing, “―hearing the name ‘Liz Allan.’ I can’t believe Liz would even show her face here. Pretty ballsy to come back to New York with MJ feeling like she does.” It’s like he notices Peter―and the furious look on his face―for the first time. “Sorry, Spider-Man, must be tough to find out you sided with the bad guy, though it can’t be that much of a surprise, considering where her dad ended up.”

“You literally just admitted that the only scandalous thing you can prove is her father’s conviction. You’re holding something against Liz that doesn’t have anything to do with her,” Peter points out, fuming. “And it has even less to do with Michelle.”

He steps around Brad, angrily, then turns back. “And by the way, Liz told me that herself. Nice bombshell.”

Brad scoffs and spreads his hands like he doesn’t deserve this backlash.

“Well, sor _ry_. Just trying to help you out.”

“ _Asshole_ ,” Peter mutters under his breath and turns away for good.

As if some vile attack by that piece of shit is going to change Peter’s opinion of Liz. Brad can’t possibly expect Peter to believe him, can he? Not when he presents his case so carelessly and with so much obvious prejudice. If anything, all Brad’s really revealed is his willingness to blindly defend Michelle. Peter could’ve guessed at that without the demonstration.

Peter’s deeply relieved to find his brother without much searching; Vision’s just releasing Wanda’s hand―they’re holding hands now?―and looks happy to see Peter. It helps. Actually, Vision just looks happy in general. He’s clearly been having a far less fraught evening than Peter has. He sets everything else to one side for a second, appreciating his brother’s contentment, before he springs the necessary subject on him.

“Did Wanda know anything about Liz? If you remembered to ask her,” he clarifies with a knowing smile, “since you guys look pretty wrapped up in each other.”

Vision’s flustered and stuttering, then catches Peter with a sharp look.

“I assure you, I _did_ remember, though unfortunately, I have little to report. Miss Jones has never told Wanda the particulars of her relationship with Miss Allan. However, Wanda comes very readily to her best friend’s defence and assures me that Miss Jones is driven by honesty and justice, and would never deliberately mistreat anyone. She says it’s likely that Miss Allan deserved even less acknowledgement than Miss Jones allowed her. Peter,” Vision says gently, recalling his brother from a frown of disbelief. “Both Wanda and Brad have impressed upon me that Miss Allan... Liz... is not the upstanding young woman we would like to believe her to be. Whatever the true cause of the rift between the women, it’s Liz who has erred, earning Miss Jones’s rejection.”

Peter still doesn’t buy it, though it’s harder to disagree when the words come from Vision. He wants to believe his brother, but this is second-hand information and he can’t let his trust in his brother add credibility where it isn’t due.

“So Wanda doesn’t know Liz directly?” he clarifies.

Vision shakes his head.

“Their first meeting was at the market in Albany.”

“That means everything she told you,” Peter reasons, “comes from Michelle. Her best friend is her only source of information. Of _course_ she’s going to take her side.” He sighs. It’s surprisingly comforting to reach a dead end. “Did Wanda know anything about the payments? The financial support the Joneses were giving Liz and her mom?”

“She was and remains unaware of the particulars of their arrangement, but said Miss Jones had implied a misuse of the funds by Liz.”

“I know you don’t think Wanda would lie to us,” Peter tells his brother. “Neither do I. It’s just... I need more than that. I respect how she’s backing up her friend, but she doesn’t have all the information, and what she _does_ have is biased because it’s what Michelle told her. I haven’t changed my mind about this. I _can’t_.”

He lets the subject drop, encouraging his brother to delve into the far more pleasant topic of Wanda―specifically, how Vision stammeringly hopes she feels about him. Peter does some fervent bolstering in an effort to convince Vision that Wanda’s definitely into him; they were holding hands earlier, weren’t they?! That’s a pretty damn good sign.

When Wanda walks over, touching Vision tenderly on the arm and smiling at them both, Peter decides to let the convincing come from the woman herself. He heads back to Ned.

It’s totally fair of Ned to ask what it was like to dance with Michelle Jones, but Peter has trouble thinking of a reply, let alone getting it out. _Intense_ is the word he keeps landing on. He can’t say that to Ned though, he’ll misconstrue it, spin it into some kind of positive that Peter can’t handle right now. The unlikeliest person saves him from having to pry open the bear trap of hazardous recent memory: Flash Thompson. He pulls up a chair right between them.

“I just heard something insane,” he begins eagerly, glancing from Ned to Peter. “I’m literally shitting myself.”

“God, I hope not,” Peter says under his breath.

“You guys know Michelle Jones, right?”

“Kinda.” Ned gives Peter a look for his blatantly sarcastic tone, but Flash is undeterred and presses on.

“Well, I just heard someone ask her how her Aunt Carol’s doing and _then_ how Carol’s kinda-brother is. And guess who the fuck that is?” Flash demands. “Director Nick fucking Fury!”

“No kidding.”

“This is fate,” Flash insists, though no one’s protesting. “I had no idea tonight would be the night I got to meet Fury’s niece.”

Wait a sec.

“Well...” Peter starts. “I don’t know if this is the best―”

“It’s a good thing I found out now. Fuck, if we’d gone back to the compound and I saw somebody mention it on Insta―” There are designated hashtags for tonight’s event, Peter recalls, so that people who aren’t having existential crises can help Wanda promote her new restaurant online. “I would’ve been so mad that I missed my chance.” He slaps Ned and Peter on the back simultaneously. “Wish me luck. I’m going to go perform a little ass-kissing and hope she’s not offended that I didn’t do it sooner. If she’s anything like her kinda-uncle, she’ll be expecting some deference.”

“Hang on.” Peter grabs Flash’s arm, holding him in place. “You’re going to introduce yourself to Michelle Jones?”

Flash shrugs him off (only because Peter’s surprised and lets him) and buttons his burgundy suit jacket.

“Hell yeah, I am.”

“I really don’t think...” Peter tries.

“And apparently, neither does Flash,” Ned concludes as Flash swaggers confidently away without listening to Peter’s warning. What Peter was _going_ to say was that this is a bad time, that Michelle won’t be in any kind of mood to tolerate Flash, not after the rocky conversation Peter had with her. This is going to be a trainwreck.

“He’s screwed,” Ned observes as they watch Flash approach Michelle.

“ _So_ screwed.”

“She’ll steamroll him.”

“There’ll be nothing left to bury.”

A server passes them with hors d’oeuvres and the boys assemble a communal plate, then snack without taking their eyes off of Flash and Michelle. Even from a ways away, it’s obvious how much Michelle wants to be left alone. She’s standing moodily in a corner! That’s a signal even Peter wouldn’t have misread! They watch Flash whip out his phone and show her the screen with a smug look on his face, like a cop flashing his badge. Ugh, he’s probably showing her one of his social media pages like, yeah, this is me. Peter can imagine Flash saying that.

The room’s loud, but Peter’s superior senses can still make out enough to know Flash has gotten right to the point, fawning over Fury and getting ready to grovel before Michelle by extension. She’s _barely_ replying. Like, one-word answers. That clearly isn’t stopping Flash from talking for as long as he wants. Peter suddenly feels embarrassed to be watching this, more embarrassed that Flash is here as a guest of _his_ family and therefore a reflection on them. This jackass is a huge liability. Why didn’t they seal him in one of the labs or workshops? Chemical burns, power tool accidents―either would’ve been preferable to this awkward interaction. Please, he thinks, let Michelle assume Flash is drunk. The smallest excuse for his behaviour would be a welcome miracle. Peter covers his face and groans, but he can’t resist looking. He needs to know how this ends.

Looks like it ends with Michelle brushing by Flash and walking briskly away, face severely unimpressed.

Peter doesn’t particularly want to know more, but Flash hurries back to their table, smirking triumphantly.

“Oh man, that went _great_ ,” Flash gushes. “I think she was flattered. Makes sense, right? Probably wasn’t expecting the attention when the event’s about Wendy.”

“ _Wanda_.”

Flash snaps his fingers.

“Yeah, that’s it. Anyway, she was totally polite.” He snags one of the hors d’oeuvres from their plate. “ _And_ , this is the best part, Michelle said that Fury must really like me or else he’d have had me killed by now. Isn’t that great?”

Peter can’t nod in good conscience, let alone speak, because what he wants to agree would be great is Director Fury having Flash killed so he can’t do something like _this_ again. At least, that’s how Peter’s feeling in the moment. It’ll pass.

“I never thought of it like that before,” Flash says around his mouthful, “but that’s a pretty awesome way to put it.”

Peter’s struggling to see Flash’s point of view. He shakes his head and looks around for Vision, spying him at Wanda’s side as she speaks to some people Peter doesn’t know. Their earlier hand-holding was cute, in a teenager-ish way, but the way they stand together, Vision staring at Wanda’s face with adoring eyes, reminds Peter of something. His parents. Vision and Wanda glow with affection, stability, and mutual support. They’ve never even gone on a date, and yet Peter can see them living here together, co-hosting dinners and always saying the right things to guests. It’s... it’s really nice.

Sounds like their dad thinks so too. The word gets around that Wanda’s going to make a short speech, so most people decide to sit, and Peter sees Tony walking over to the table with Ned’s parents. Tony negotiates his exoskeleton-encased legs into a chair and looks to their host with approving eyes as she addresses her guests. Peter glances at him while Wanda’s wrapping it up, graciously thanking everyone for coming, and realizes he hasn’t seen his dad try to steal the spotlight tonight. He doesn’t think Tony necessarily _means_ to―it’s just, like, a thing he can’t help.

Wanda concludes her speech and gravitates towards Vision; Peter sees his dad’s eyes twinkle, observing them. That can’t be good. Tony rises from the table with Ned’s parents and before he gets far, his voice is rising, his hand gestures growing more animated. He’s talking about Vision. Vision and Wanda. As a couple (they aren’t yet). As a done-deal investor-entrepreneur partnership ( _definitely_ not yet). Oh shit. And because he is who he is, Tony doesn’t leave it at broad hopes for the future. No, he gets specific, calculating Wanda’s probable debt and loans, the minutiae of her background criteria, the benefits of her living so close by. Then, how nice he thinks it is that Brad and Vision are becoming good friends, how sure he is that Brad wants these bonds between Wanda and Vision forged as much as Vision does. After that, Tony goes macro―considering the bigger picture and dragging the rest of his kids into his enthusiastic prophesying. He loudly predicts that this first venture will open the door for his sons and daughters to develop their own exciting, ground-breaking empires. People are paying attention, like they always do when a Stark starts grandstanding. Tony throws in some bullshit about how nice it’ll be to enjoy the simple life at home with his children making their own way in the world. It’s an absolute. Fucking. Nightmare.

Peter clambers off his chair and sidles up to his dad as furtively as he’s able, whispering for him to shut up. (He wouldn’t normally use those words with his father, but desperate times...) When Tony ignores him, making even larger gestures to his small crowd (oh man) of listeners, Peter begs him to at least lower his voice. He glances away frantically, seeking Pepper or Vision, and his gaze streaks across Michelle Jones. Tony shushes Peter’s concerns, but now Peter’s the one not listening. Everything she’s ever believed about their family is radiating from the confident words and commanding posture of Tony Stark: power, entitlement, money.

“Michelle’s going to hear you,” Peter hisses hysterically.

“Michelle Jones?” his dad pauses to ask. “So what? She’s not the boss of me.”

Peter rolls his eyes.

“ _Please_ , Dad. Just... quieter, please? If she doesn’t like what you’re saying, she’ll tell Wanda, and you really don’t want to screw up your friendship with Wanda, right? That’d be stupid if you want all these things to happen.”

Nothing works because his father is _defiant_ and _belligerent_ and as unwilling to bend to someone else’s requests as a cranky toddler at bedtime. All Peter can do is stand there in profound embarrassment while Tony brags and prognosticates, never getting quieter. As recklessly as his dad’s behaving, it isn’t in Peter to leave his side, but he does constantly glance at Michelle. She’s not actively observing Tony... and yet, something about the severity of her posture tells Peter she’s listening. What Peter can see of her face shifts through expressions of anger, disgust, and contempt, then settles on a sorta flat iciness.

He isn’t sure if Michelle’s visible dislike ends before or after his dad finally finishes his lecture, because it’s one fucking thing after the next with his family tonight―there’s a distressing mechanical noise from the kitchen and when Peter bolts in there to investigate, he finds Nebula. God _dammit_ , why hasn’t anybody been watching her? Not that she’s a child, she’s just too unpredictable, especially the longer she’s around a large group of people. Harley could’ve been with her! Their _dad_ should’ve been with her! The havoc she’s caused is evident; even as Peter freezes just inside the door, his sister continues to insist to the staff that she can make their processes of preparing food more efficient, can simply make very minor adjustments to their equipment...

Without getting too close (there are a lot of knives in here, ok? And he’s seen her wield a knife), Peter approaches the situation with a sense of humour, attempting to coax her back into the dining room. But apparently, Nebula’s emulating Dad tonight because she doesn’t react to his words. She continues to insist to everyone around her that she knows better, until flames are flaring from every burner of a large gas stove and food processors are violently whirring like they thirst to slice someone’s hand clean off their wrist. Peter swallows nervously. He’s wondering how bad this can get. Will a smoke detector go off? Will they have to evacuate the building? Will bad press caused by his family make Wanda’s restaurant tank before it even gets off the ground?

Peter’s undoing the top buttons of his shirt, readying himself to move fast enough to rescue people from appliances pushed past their limit. If there was a way to call Vision in here without attracting Wanda’s attention to the precarious state of her new kitchen, he’d do it. Just as he’s forcefully puffing out a breath before jumping into action―the plan is to pull Nebula back, hopefully let go before she can instinctively attack him, then clear the kitchen of the rest of the people until he figures out a way to shut everything off―Tony barges in. Peter slumps in relief. Maybe their dad’s kind of a loudmouth in public, but he’ll fix this. He’ll take care of it.

“Uh, hey, Neb,” Tony calls out, making her swivel around. “I think you have enough toys at home. Why don’t you let the other kids have a turn?”

Oh _god_ , not like that! Peter’s hand goes to his forehead, fingers yanking into his hair. The one thing you _never_ do with Nebula is humiliate her. It’s not like she had a typical childhood (or, just, _a childhood_ ), but she knows when she’s being patronized.

“Nebula,” Peter says softly to his sister, but she’s shouldering past him and out of the kitchen, fury caged carefully behind her features.

He glares at their dad, who’s really screwing up tonight. Is it because Mom isn’t glued to his side (she always treats events as networking opportunities), babysitting him? Is it the weight of his own dreams for uniting the Park and SI, Wanda and Vision? Peter sighs. His dad puts too much pressure on himself. But he’s still a dumbass, so Peter leaves him in the kitchen to charm the staff and get first pick of the next round of hors d’oeuvres.

In an amazingly short period of time, it looks like Flash has joined the dumb-shit parade, because the guy’s concluding a noisy, boisterous speech (to his phone) that too many people are noticing. Can this be it? Can Peter go home now and bang his head against the wall in the privacy of his own bedroom? He spots Michelle staring at Flash with a disturbed look on her face. Oh, and there’s Brad, looking much more openly scornful. _Awesome_.

Tony exits the kitchen behind him and Peter’s too done to even be mad, though he still flinches when, with a hand on his shoulder, his dad leans towards Mr. Leeds and says what a great, ambitious, far-sighted kid Flash Thompson is, and a member of the Stark Industries family. _Why_ does his dad do this? They don’t even know what Flash was saying.

The one good thing―literally the _one_ fucking good thing―is that, when Peter sees Vision and Wanda, they appear oblivious to everything around them. He has this bashful look on his face and she’s blushing around an adoring smile. In Peter’s eyes, it’s enough to make up for the fact that Michelle and Brad will definitely have seen Flash exhibiting himself and the party for the benefit of the Flash Mob. There’s their fuel to continue deriding the Starks and the people they choose as their guests for the rest of eternity.

The theme for the rest of Peter’s tonight is endurance. He’s patient with (meaning, he ignores) Flash when the guy decides to turn his focus on Spider-Man, asking question after question. It doesn’t start out with ignoring him, but when Peter offers to find somebody to introduce Flash to―there must be somebody, _anybody_ here he vaguely recognizes―and Flash is content to stick to him and only him (and _says_ so outright), the ignoring begins in earnest. Ned, champion among men, nudges into Peter and Flash’s one-sided conversation bit by bit until he’s fully tag-teamed in and Flash leaves Peter alone.

The other relief is Michelle. She doesn’t pick a fight about Liz, or even attempt neutral conversation. She actually doesn’t even look at Peter, though she’s occasionally near his table, and though he knows she’s probably ignoring him, weirdly, her disregard feels like shelter instead of punishment. Like Michelle’s putting his recharge time on her tab.

The Starks (plus Flash―always plus fucking _Flash_ ) are the last to drag their sorry asses out of the party sometime after midnight. It gives the more sullen of their hosts plenty of time to work up a good scowl; Brad should really take a selfie, Peter thinks, because he seems like the kind of dick who’d be proud of how nasty he looks. The only thing he says isn’t to them, it’s just a general complaint of how tired he is and how nice it’ll be to _finally_ get to bed. The criticism of the Starks inhumanely forcing him to stay awake is obvious to Peter. Tony’s still up to making conversation, but even Iron Man’s getting shut down by Brad tonight.

Flash is in a league of his own, throwing out last minute compliments about every detail. Peter tunes him out, suspecting Flash must have been making a list all night so he wouldn’t forget when he got the chance to announce them.

Michelle, characteristically, doesn’t say a word. Pepper’s silent too and Peter would guess she’s heard some of the things her family got up to tonight and is internally considering damage control.

Vision and Wanda are in a world of their own, talking quietly. Peter purposely blocks out their words to give them privacy, saying nothing himself as he stands with Nebula (sullen), Morgan (tuckered), and Harley (yawning). His brother, like Brad, is whining about being tired. As if they don’t all have fucked-up sleep schedules 90% of the time.

After these largely unpleasant and drawn-out methods of saying goodbye, Tony tosses out a last-second offer to have Wanda visit the compound soon so they can return the favour of cooking for her. Despite the probably stresses of the night, and everything it took to get there, she’s warm and eager in her acceptance. So Tony ushers his family from the event, barely minding the pain in his back and legs (when they get back to the compound, he’ll groan his way out of the exoskeleton and take something, letting Pepper drive home in the meantime), thrilled because he’s certain about the Park coming under the banner of Stark Industries. About Vision going beyond everything he’s ever imagined for him by being human enough to fall in love. About Flash’s arrival soon resulting in a big chance for Peter to spread his battered wings.

* * *

The Starks’ kitchen table, laid with a cobbled-together breakfast, is the backdrop for varying degrees of pain in the morning. Harley’s trying to hide both his hangover and his sour expression from his mother (she’s rolling her eyes that he thinks he’s succeeding), face nearly resting in his plate of eggs fried in a _brick_ of butter. Tony’s shifting constantly in his wheelchair, swigging coffee and longing to roll into the living room and stretch the persistent soreness out of his back. Pepper’s as stressed and distracted as she’s ever been at a family meal, bites of burnt pancake (Morgan put Nebula in charge of flipping them and she’s dubious about the strength of their stove) reaching her mouth every so often while she taps rapidly at her tablet with one hand and sends incoming calls to voicemail with the other.

Finally, she groans and Tony’s back straightens. He knows the groan is for him.

“People keep asking if what you said last night about Stark Industries investing in the Park is an official rollout of a new phase for the company. I’m running out of ways to say, ‘No, my husband just gets carried away.’”

Harley shrugs and grumbles, “You could throw the word ‘loudmouth’ in there for variety.”

He smirks woozily at his dad who holds up a warning finger.

“That’s strike one, kid.” Quickly, Tony rearranges his features from stern to suck-up and turns the expression on his wife. “Maybe you could hold off on sending any more of those retractions.”

Subtly, he catches Flash’s eye and gives him a meaningful nod.

Their guest wipes his mouth with a napkin and clears his throat like he’s about to perform an opera; it’s over-the-top and meant to draw the eye of everyone at the table. Peter gets an anxious, skittish feeling that his pain has just clocked in.

“Uh, yeah, I was hoping to talk to Peter this morning,” Flash declares.

“I’m not sure why you felt the need to annou―” Pepper begins, but Tony reaches to pat her hand, shushing her in a way that makes his wife’s expression harden.

“Yep, great idea, Flash,” Tony says quickly. He’s still looking at Pepper with pleading, placating eyes. “I think Peter’s been looking forward to this.”

It’s unclear who the comment is really meant for. Pepper? Flash? Peter himself, in an _extremely_ last-ditch attempt to make him feel involved in the trap about to swallow him?

“Wait,” he starts when Tony begins hastily stacking everyone’s breakfast plates.

Harley looks sorrowful as his eggs are prematurely squished, but he gets up from the table, automatically putting out his hand for Morgan before she can even extend hers to grasp it. Nebula seems happy to get back to whatever she’s been doing today and disappears in a blue flash.

“No, no,” Peter says, more frantically now. “Stay. You guys, _stay_.” He laughs nervously as his mom lets Vision―ever loyal to Tony―lead her out. “Why would Flash have to talk to me alone? I don’t mind if anybody overhears.”

He shoves his chair back and his dad’s wheeling over in a second.

“Pete, trust me on this one. Stay put.”

Peter opens his mouth, desperate, but Tony’s giving him that ‘ _I am Iron Man’_ look that means he’s the boss of Peter as long as Peter lives under his ridiculously large roof. He shuffles his chair back into place. The best thing to do, he figures, is to just get this over with. Sometimes the only way out is through. Peter repeats this to himself, taking a deep breath. The crescent of his half-eaten pancake is smiling up at him from his plate, the only one not cleared from the table. His dad was probably trying not to get too close to make sure he wouldn’t bolt. Ugh, the betrayal.

The second it’s just Flash and Peter, Flash gets up and slides into the seat beside him, where Nebula was.

“That’s nice,” Flash starts, gesturing to the doorway Peter’s backstabbing family just exited through, “that you like to keep things out in the open. Honesty. That’s a quality I can appreciate. Don’t worry though―this is all above board, I already talked it over with Mr. Stark.”

Yeah, no shit he’s talked _something_ over with Peter’s dad. Awesome how Peter gets to be the last to know.

“And what is ‘it’ exactly?” Peter asks.

“I came here...” Flash inhales dramatically, “...with a purpose. I need a business partner.” Peter stares back at him. “I got here and... I knew almost right away that it has to be you. But lemme explain. That should appeal to you, right, science guy? The logic behind my decision?”

Honestly, none of this appeals to Peter. Decision? _Decision_? It can’t be a decision until Peter gets a say. Even if Flash did talk to Tony about this, Peter’s dad doesn’t run his life! This is precisely what he’s claimed to be protecting Peter from by keeping Fury away. He’s so thrown off by Flash’s whole introduction that he misses his chance to interrupt the guy.

“First of all,” Flash says, diving right in, “it would give me a lot of credibility with the people.”

“The people?”

“My viewers. Followers and potential followers. If they see me actually working with Spider-Man, they’ll believe me when I say I have connections to superheroes and that my insight into their―sorry, _your_ ― lives is legit. Second,” Flash’s hand lands on the back of Peter’s chair and Peter wants to wiggle off the far edge and creep away from all of this, “I think bringing you into the fold will help me improve. You know, give me confidence. I was inspired by you long before I met you and, I don’t know, man, I think that’s gotta keep building if we team up. Third, and maybe this should’ve been first, but I was nervous and it’s too late now, is that Fury supports this idea. Not that I choose you specifically, but he’s gonna love it, so don’t even worry.”

Peter wonders if Flash thinks it’s normal to have to tell someone not to worry so much and have them believe that what he’s saying really is a good idea.

“The thing is, Fury’s not always available,” Flash explains, “but he wants me to approach things the right way, give an authentic perspective on my superhero content. You’re perfect.” He pokes Peter in the chest. Peter saw it coming and stopped himself from leaping out of the way. Soon, soon Flash will shut up and he can tell him he doesn’t want to be a propaganda tool. Doesn’t his dad see what this is? “By the way, I can totally hook you up with an introduction, if you want. An audience with Fury is just one of the many perks of working with me.”

Well, Tony can’t know about _that_. Whatever else he and Flash have evidently agreed on, there’s no way it includes Peter becoming pals with Fury.

“Now,” Flash says seriously, “part two. Obviously, I’m starting to get a little recognition, plus I’ve inherited my dad’s company and Thompson Integrated Trust is no joke, you know? People want to work for me, even enhanced people, like yourself.”

Peter frowns in disbelief, but Flash isn’t really paying attention to anything outside of himself right now.

“So, what I’m saying is, I could just sign a contract with Joe Superhero from Radiationville, USA, but I want to keep this in the family, by which I mean the family our fathers’ two companies became when my dad bought up all those Stark Industries shares.” He mentions the transfer of power so offhandedly that Peter shudders. “I thought the best way to move forward together would be a little crosspollination; I silently own your corporation, you get a say in how I operate mine. As you can see, I don’t want to push your family out, I want to bring you in.”

Flash’s voice is eager and earnest and Peter’s feeling queasy.

“Like I said,” he reiterates, “I wanted to get all that out there before I circled back to the main thing, which is that I think you’re freaking amazing, Spider-Man. I’ve said it a billion times to the Flash Mob, but I’m never going to get tired of saying it to your face. I don’t care if you’re new to this. We can totally learn the business together. I actually prefer that over having some suit talk down to me all day. A _partner_ , man,” Flash concludes enthusiastically.

Peter remembers how to talk.

“I... we... I haven’t said yes!” Peter points out. Flash makes a _well, then, go ahead_ hand gesture. “And I’m not going to! It’s, uh, nice, I guess, that you thought of me, so thanks for that. I get that this is a big deal for you and the future of your, uh, endeavors,” he throws out, trying to sound professional, “but I’m not the right person to be part of that.”

“I thought this might happen,” Flash says calmly. “I get it. You’re Spider-Man, you’re a risk-taker! You get some kind of adrenaline kick between the moment you say no and the moment I ask again, then you get to be relieved. And _don’t worry_ ,” he says for the third time, “I don’t think you’re playing with me. I suspected this might be how you operate. So here it is for the second time, we’re gonna be partners, deal?”

And Flash thrusts out his hand. Peter stares at it.

“What? No, man,” he insists. “I don’t know how you came up with that explanation, but that’s not what I was thinking. At all. I don’t know anyone who would do that. The thing is that you and me working together would not be a good match. You’re out there, in the public eye. On purpose! I really just want to be left alone for a while, not to be a poster child for TIT. And the Fury angle’s a no-go,” he adds.

“No, I _know_ that you guys would vibe,” Flash pushes. Peter just shakes his head. That isn’t even _close_ to what he means. “He’s due for a break-in at my place soon and I’m gonna talk you up, Spider-Man, tell him you’re even cooler in person. Talk about your, your _honesty_ , your sense of responsibility, all that good shit.”

“You really don’t need to do that. Just listen to what I’m saying to you,” Peter pleads. “I appreciate the offer, I wish you the best, I’m not going to hold a grudge and feel like you owed me something, so all your bases are covered. You came here and did exactly what you planned to do, but plans don’t always work out!”

Peter’s ready to make his escape now, but Flash speaks before he can leave his chair, let alone the room.

“Ok. Take some time,” Flash recommends. “Think about what I said. Then, next time we talk, you can bring all your thoughts to the table when you accept. That’s actually better. I know I kind of sprung this on you, but you’re right, we should approach this as equals, equally prepared.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, man?” Peter asks wildly. “Do you not understand the word ‘no’? There can’t possibly be a simpler way for me to say that.”

Flash smirks, seemingly to himself, as Peter looks on, baffled.

“It’s not that I don’t believe you, but I think you’re being impulsive and I’m doing you a favour by letting you sit with this for a while. Rationally, there’s no reason for you to say no. I’m handing you a more secure future than what Stark Industries can offer you, frankly. And if your own father’s business can’t protect you, how do you know anybody else’s ever will? I might be your shot.” He sniffs and shrugs, arrogant. “You’re smart. You can do the math. _That’s_ how I know you’ll say yes.”

“Yeah,” Peter acknowledges, “I _am_ smart, and it’s not just intelligence, it’s instincts. I’m the kind of smart that wouldn’t reject something this hard unless it really felt wrong. If you want to pay me a real compliment, recognize that I have an opinion about this and that it matters even if it’s not the same as yours! Thanks _again_ , Flash,” he says, fed up, “but I won’t be changing my mind. This partnership isn’t happening.”

He can tell it’s finally sinking in for the guy and he hesitates, getting to his feet but lingering by his chair for a moment. Flash looks up at him. Then Peter realizes it’s with denial, not acceptance.

“Really keeping me on my toes, Spider-Man. Good to know we’ll be on the same side soon. I think I’ll talk to your mom about this.”

This is just too outrageous. Peter blinks, then walks straight out of the room. Flash is going to talk to his mom? Not if Peter gets to her first. Then Pepper can be the one to shut this guy down, once and for all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything's coming up Flash! We'll see how long he can hang onto his self-deception in the next chapter, which, by the way, will be in one week! If you don't follow me on Tumblr (forasecondtherewedwon) or missed my announcement, I'm switching from updating this story every other week to every week. Woo!


	11. Bad News

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “'She is a very headstrong, foolish girl, and does not know her own interest; but I will make her know it.'” - _Pride and Prejudice_ , ch. 20

Although Tony has both the means and the motivation to listen in, he uses his tremendous willpower to resist that temptation. Also, he checks the security cameras via his phone every five minutes, which helps. He wheels back to the kitchen when he notices that Flash is there alone. Good stuff. He’s ready to shake hands with Peter’s new business partner.

And when he does, his congratulations aren’t tame. Tony channels how proud he is of himself and his ploy to secure another of his kids’ futures into his verbal applause of Flash Thompson. He goes over the top to emphasize what a great idea this is for Flash and TIT (he uses the full name to reduce the chance of a rogue giggle leaving his mouth), how Peter is a real repository of Stark knowledge and ingenuity, what a brilliant outlook both of their companies now have. He’s articulate and grandiose, flowing from one compliment to the next, really laying it on thick. To top it off, Tony lays a fatherly hand on Flash’s shoulder and watches the guy’s eyes light up because Iron Man is touching him. He’s never felt warmer towards his guest. Flash is just a kid after all―just a kid coming into an inheritance that probably feels like a pair of shoes two sizes too big. Tony’s been there. He understands the burden of birthright. Hopefully, all of that’s being communicated through the shoulder-squeeze and nod of approval.

Flash takes it all in, struggling to widen the net of his gratitude to catch all of Tony’s encouragement and gusto. He’s been vocal since he arrived at the compound and he finds it in himself to continue to spew positivity about the new, _better_ connection between his business and the Stark family. In fact, he states his intention of considering them his extended family. Tony Stark offers him a proud smile. Effervescent, Flash goes on to narrate a heavily-biased recounting of his conversation with Peter. It’s so clear to him that everything has worked out, that every hope he had has effectively been achieved. Peter’s initial refusal just makes sense, as he explains to his host, and, in a roundabout way, enriches the acceptance of his proposition that Flash considers inevitable.

Tony thinks this kid’s lost the plot. Yeah, he follows what Flash is trying to convince him of, but saying ‘no’ when you really mean ‘yes’? That’s not Peter and Tony tells Flash as much. He can’t stand the heartiness of the guy’s self-deception.

“But don’t you worry,” Tony adds, because he is _not_ letting this fall through (and because he doesn’t want to deal with Flash’s likely despair). “I’ll go have a chat with Peter, help him get his head on straight. It’s just his loyalty to Stark Industries. He’s been learning from his mom and I don’t think he’s considered another path before now, that’s all. I’ll bring him around to it.”

“Well, I don’t want to force him,” Flash argues. “I get being loyal to his father’s company, but he would be working for _me_. I need to know he has room for a new loyalty. I want us to put past difficulties behind us. If he can’t let go of SI... I’m not sure Peter would be the right fit.”

Tony does his damnedest to backtrack and rephrase, but he knows brass-tacks business rhetoric is Pepper’s strong suit. While he can bluster and persuade better than the best, his wife can be starkly convincing without wasting a single word. He flings a bunch of optimistic comments Flash’s way, hoping that one will stick, and gets the hell out of there to find Pepper.

“You’re wearing your suck-up smile,” she notes as he rolls into her office.

“You know, I thought about wearing the smile and nothing else, but I think that move was sexier before I needed your help to get my pants off.”

Pepper cracks a smile and comes around her desk. She bends down, gives his cheek a lingering kiss, and whispers next to his ear, “It’s still sexy.”

“But what do you want?” she continues, resting back against the edge of her desk.

“I’m so glad you asked. It’s actually what _we_ want. I am, as ever, the emissary for your happiness.”

“I’m sure.”

“Ok, you’re making the face that says ‘speed it along,’ so I’ll get right to it.”

“Great plan.”

“There’s a teensy problem downstairs.”

“Tony, what did you do?”

He aims for aghast with his expression.

“Me? It’s your son who’s causing problems. Our buddy Flash has just finished laying out this fantastic proposal for him and Pete’s turned it down. I need _you_ to get him to yes.”

Pepper crosses her arms.

“What business proposal? Is this the big mystery we had to clear out for after breakfast? God, _Tony_ , what are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking about our kid’s future, Pep,” Tony insists, stabbing the arm of his wheelchair with an emphatic index finger. “Flash is looking for a business partner and he’s asked Peter. You know he’s ready for this. It’d be good for him to go back to the city, feel a sense of purpose again.”

“Peter’s not ready for that,” his wife says with a sigh.

“He would be though, I know he would be. He just needs this little push and it’s so...” Tony clenches his fist. “...frustrating that he can’t see it. He told Flash no. More than once. If I talk to him, I know there’ll be pushback, which is why it’s time for Mom to step in before Flash changes his mind and goes scouting for business partners in some other family with some other company his dad bought out.” He exhales. “This could save us, Pep.”

She holds his eyes with a soft but certain stare. Her response sounds just the same.

“It’s not Peter’s job to save us.”

It’s touchy, when she says those words and she says them that way. Tony feels every ripple, every little moment when his son had too much on his shoulders, when he as a father expected so much. And again, when he as a father failed. If Tony had just fought harder in the first place, their lives would never have tilted like a board game knocked across a tabletop, all the little pieces sliding to the edge. Can’t she see this guilt is exactly why he has to put things right? Set Peter back on his square so he can keep progressing around the board? So he can still win? Tony has to believe his children can still win.

“Please just talk to him.”

Pepper doesn’t look away for a long time, but eventually, she picks up her phone and, in a quick call, invites Peter to her office. He’s at the door in no time, anxious fingers playing with the sleeves of his sweater. It’s a habit he’s never grown out of and the remnant of his childhood makes Pepper smile.

“Come on in, Peter,” she says. Once he’s sitting, casting accusatory glances at his dad, she continues. “I hear you made a big decision today. Flash offered you a position, right?” Peter nods. “And you turned it down?”

“Yeah, I―”

“That’s ok, Peter, your dad told me enough. I’ll get right to it. I’m sure you’re already aware that your father is very much in favour of this alliance. Tony?” Pepper checks.

“Sure am,” her husband chimes in. “And if Peter doesn’t take this opportunity that’s fallen squarely on his spidery-legged little lap, then he’s never getting my help finding a job again. That’s right, kid, nepotism just flatlined. You want a time of death?” Tony yanks back his sleeve to check his wrist in the most facetious manner possible.

His wife lifts a weary hand to tell him to shut up, then addresses their son.

“There you have it, Peter,” she summarizes more than a little wryly. “Refuse Flash’s offer and your dad’s influence goes with it. The name ‘Stark’ will never open another door for you.” Pepper pauses. “Accept his offer, and I’ll have to withdraw _my_ help, because anybody who bends to a sneaky, impulsive scheme like this clearly hasn’t listened to a thing I have to say while I’ve been teaching him the ropes of my job. Is that understood?”

His mom’s smiling broadly by the end and Peter grins right back at her. However, Tony, completely taken in by his wife’s serious tone and fully expecting her to side with him after his very logical argument in favour of this ‘sneaky, impulsive scheme,’ is indignant.

“Uh, Pep? We were supposed to be on the same page here.”

“First of all,” Pepper informs her husband, “nobody tells me what page I’m supposed to be on. I’m sorry, but it’s not my fault if you’d forgotten that. Second, please get out of my office. I have work to do for the company that every member of this family continues to represent.”

Huh. Looks like leaving this in his wife’s hands was the wrong approach. He gives her a sarcastic smile as he wheels out after their son; Pepper returns it with a much pleasanter one (because she _won_ ), so Tony switches to sticking his tongue out at her before closing the door.

Despite Pepper’s ruling, he’s not done pestering Peter. He badgers his son all the way down the hall and in the elevator, tries charmingly coaxing him for a while, then goes with a firm lecturing tone by the time they’re in Peter’s room and he’s watching his son text Ned (there’s nobody else it could be). Tony attempts to drag Vision into it when he walks past, but he very diplomatically declines involvement. Peter mostly ignores him, and when he’s not doing that, he’s saying ‘no.’ Over and over again. Where did this kid learn to be so pigheaded?

None of this family turmoil has any effect on Flash, who’s been left to his own devices. Physically, he’s flopped back on a couch, arm stuffed under his head as he thumbs through Instagram, but mentally, he’s still having that conversation with Peter. There’s no question in Flash’s mind that his powers of persuasion and suaveness are anything less than lethal, so he remains at a loss as to how Peter could possibly turn him―forget the company―down. It’s a major blow to his ego to be so thoroughly and repeatedly rejected by Spider-Man. Spider-Man, who’s never wavered from his place as Flash’s favourite Avenger, though his crush on the hero has waxed and waned over the years. Not important. He remains tragically in recline while the parental tug-of-war goes on upstairs.

Enter: Ned.

When Peter texted him that his home life was starting to resemble a dramatic Renaissance painting, Ned figured he’d skip texting back and just come right over. He knows when he’s needed.

With his best friend still fending off Mr. Stark, the first person Ned encounters is Harley, who rushes up to him as soon as he’s in the door. Peter’s brother looks strangely thrilled for how dire Ned’s understood the situation to be. It’s like he’s been waiting to share this with somebody.

“Amazing timing,” Harley says. “Guess what happened. No, don’t bother, I’ll tell you. Flash Thompson offered Petey a job working for the enemy!”

“The enemy?”

“Well, Thompson Integrated Trust, but it’s faster to say ‘enemy.’ And Peter shut him _down_.”

Morgan comes flying into the room while Ned’s processing this, and he realizes, of course Harley’s already shared everything he knows with at least one person, and told Flash’s rejection as a hilarious mishap, judging by how well the girl’s gleeful expression matches her brother’s. She repeats the same information, more or less, with decidedly more dramatic arm gestures. Ned allows the wound-up siblings to herd him into the living room. Tony’s in there, taking a break from his efforts to talk sense into Peter. Because he can never resist an audience, and because he wants someone on his side after his son’s persistent obstinacy, _he_ now starts telling Ned the story for a third time, although, at least now Ned’s getting some details. Ned recognizes that he’s being selected as The Last Hope to convince Peter to give Flash a different answer.

“Come on, Ned,” Tony says, locking eyes with the visitor. “For your best friend’s old man. None of these yahoos want to do the right thing. I’m counting on you.”

Seemingly to protect Ned from his own well-established inability to refuse anything he interprets as a direct order from Iron Man, Peter and Vision walk in. “Oh, thank god,” Ned mutters.

“There he is!” Tony calls out, giving Peter a sarcastic smile. “Mr. Know-it-all. But you know what?” he continues, as if their dispute upstairs was never broken off. “I’m worried about you. I don’t know what you’re gonna do if you turn down every job offer that comes your way. Who knows what I’m going to have left to leave you when I kick the bucket? This was for your own good and I’m serious, Peter, I’m deadly serious about what I said in Mom’s office.” He sighs until it turns into a groan. “I need a cup of coffee.”

Harley rolls his eyes and goes to make his dad coffee. Unlike Peter, he’s prepared to do the smart thing and keep his mouth shut while their dad’s feeling bossy.

When he comes back, mug in hand, and passes it off to Tony, his dad’s still ranting, his siblings and Ned still standing there awkwardly―except Peter, who looks pissed and more defiant than usual. Well, good for him, showing a little backbone. The atmosphere becomes more uncomfortable when Flash strolls in. Harley figures it probably felt weird for him to isolate himself from the rest of them any longer, but it looks like he’s really struggling, having all their eyes on him, wearing his recent failure like―as Smash Mouth so wisely sang―‘the shape of an “L” on [his] forehead.’

“Ok,” Tony says, the only person with enough of a stake to cut short his guest’s embarrassment, “everybody clear out. I have to talk to Flash.”

Peter, who only came down to find Ned, is more than happy to fuck off; he’s the first one out of the room. Vision and Morgan follow their brother―the former attempting to temper the open hilarity of the latter. Harley tries his luck, perching on the arm of the couch and tensing up his features to mimic his dad’s. Tony doesn’t stop him. Ned, on the other hand, gets stuck in the room against his will because Flash engages him in conversation, probably thinking Ned’s ignorant to his humiliation and therefore the one person there who might be an angle-less ally. He retreats when Tony starts to speak to Flash, but he doesn’t make it all the way out of the room. Oh well, at least he’ll be able to tell Peter what they said.

It turns out that Tony doesn’t say much at all, because Flash stages a filibuster. With forgiveness for Peter, thanks to Tony and Pepper for their interference (Flash assumes they both represented his interests and spoke on his behalf), a slightly smug reminder of his connection to Nick Fury, and an even smugger hint that this was probably their best chance at saving some part of their family legacy, Flash formally, wordily, and forever retracts his proposed partnership.

After that long speech, Ned sighs for him, because the guy hardly took a breath.

* * *

Flash might’ve dealt his offer a fatal blow, but it isn’t a headshot; more like a grisly stomach wound leading to a drawn-out death. Waiting for it to bleed out is painful―for Peter. He kinda wishes Flash would just leave the compound and go back to New York, but he’s _still_ collecting material for his videos and social media accounts and the family’s _still_ playing along because (thanks to Peter), Flash could _still_ fuck Stark Industries over if he really wanted to. Peter also doesn’t love how his dad continues to make not-so-subtle comments for the rest of the day. He’ll get over it in time, Pepper promises Peter, but the whining is hard to take.

Of course, Tony’s not being any more childish towards Peter than Flash is, but Flash’s methods are significantly more tolerable. Instead of voicing any of his resentment (which he claims not to feel, but, respectfully, _yeah fucking right_ , Peter thinks), he aggressively ignores Peter. Oh, he still manages to be nearby―in the living room, the kitchen, even outside the bathroom in one unsettling occurrence―but he’s giving Peter the silent treatment. Because all of Flash’s socializing energy has to go somewhere, Peter looks on guiltily as it’s redirected at Ned. Shit. Why did his best friend have to come over? He should’ve stayed home and saved himself. The guy’s too, well, _good_ for his own good.

As bad as Peter feels that the burden of Flash’s companionship has suddenly fallen on Ned, the rest of his family is visibly relieved. (When is their guest going home again? Nobody wants to ask him.)

Tony’s immaturity and Flash’s indignation are just as fresh the following morning and, without Ned as a buffer, Peter isn’t the only one who’s getting pretty sick of them. Harley suggests a return to Albany. Peter’s the first one in the car, hoping to run into Liz Allan. After the overblown business proposal, the whole situation with her and Michelle seems very straightforward and manageable, and he’s brave enough to chance texting Liz for the first time since the Park’s open house. He keeps it simple, asking if she’s back in Albany. She tells him she is. Just like that, Peter’s looking forward to seeing her more than he was previously ready to admit―even to himself.

The Starks park where they usually do and meet up with Liz for lunch. The snow’s receded again, but the cold has its claws in deep and they’re all grateful to hustle inside for hot food. Unlike last time, they shove a couple of tables together, diminishing if not eliminating the need for Peter and Harley to surreptitiously attack each other as they vie for Liz’s attention. It eases some of Peter’s lingering heartache to listen to her express sincere regret over missing Wanda’s party. He takes things too personally, he knows he does, and he’s ready to laugh off this missed connection the more Liz apologizes. By the end of lunch, the reality of the largely horrible night he spent bouncing between a very confusing dance with Michelle and his family’s assorted embarrassments has shrunk drastically. Peter’s almost glad he hasn’t seen Liz for a while. What do they say? Absence makes the heart grow fonder?

Harley’s paying, Morgan’s at his side attempting to liberate too many suckers from the jar next to the till, Vision’s trying to persuade her into a little moderation, and Nebula’s observing without interfering―secretly, she has a big soft spot for Morgan and can’t see why her sister shouldn’t be given the entire jar. His siblings’ tableau gives Peter a moment alone with Liz. He shrugs back into his coat and, blushing for no reason, passes Liz her gloves. This is when she confesses that the last-minute request to give a presentation wasn’t her only reason for missing the event at the Park.

“Maybe it sounds kind of ridiculous,” Liz says. Peter shakes his head at her obvious self-consciousness. “But, I don’t know, the more I thought about running into MJ, the more I was dreading the whole thing. Because I wouldn’t just be running into her, I’d be there for, you know, _hours_. Leaving early wouldn’t be fair to you, as your plus one, and I was afraid that, if she and I did talk...” Liz sighs heavily. “There would be collateral damage.”

“That’s considerate,” Peter offers.

“That’s nice of you, Peter, but I’m sure it just seems really juvenile.”

“No. After everything you’ve told me... I know that would be hard for you.”

With an expression brimming with gratitude, Liz squeezes his hand. His pulse skyrockets.

Peter’s siblings return and the six of them exit the restaurant together. Since she’ll be remaining in town, Liz offers to walk them back to their car, but Harley upgrades that suggestion to an invitation for her to come back with them and tour the compound. Maybe even meet the great Tony Stark, which Harley flirtatiously pitches as similar to meeting himself, only less exciting. Though Peter rolls his eyes, Liz is walking next to him on the narrow sidewalk, so he’s not really too annoyed. His private smile widens when he watches Nebula hoist Morgan up for a piggyback. Peter never seems to have to worry about how his family looks from the outside when he’s with Liz.

Unfortunately, Liz’s trip to the compound is cancelled, or at least postponed; before they can all pile into the car, Vision gets an email and Peter runs damage control after seeing the stricken expression on his brother’s face. Another time, he and Liz (and Harley―honestly, dude, butt _out_ ) promise each other before she heads off with a wave. Yeah, it would’ve been nice to spend more time with her, but family is always his priority.

Peter can tell that whatever Vision received is serious, and his brother only confirms his assumption by saying nothing about it the whole drive home.

One puzzled look that says Vision is uncertain of how to proceed is enough to have Peter nudging his brother through the living room and straight to the elevator. They ride up to Vision’s quarters to speak in private. When they’re safely inside, he brings the email up on a holographic screen for Peter to read for himself. But before he can begin, Vision steps in front to preface the message. Peter thinks a little warning would’ve done his brother more good than it can do him, but he hears him out.

“The email is from Brad. Maximoff.” As if they know so many Brads; Peter spares him this inane comment. So not the time. “He... he and his sister...” Vision sighs, transitioning from his human appearance to his regular red self. “All of the Park’s residents have left for Manhattan. Brad emailed me from the train.”

“When are they coming back?”

“It sounds as though... Well, it sounds as though they might not.”

“ _What_?!” Peter doesn’t get it. “How can they do that? What about the restaurant?”

“With the dining room and kitchen on the main floor, they were easily able to lock the residential portion of the building while allowing the business to continue operations. Apparently, Wanda has just engaged a chef to be her replacement so that she might... step back and focus on her role as owner.”

“You have to be kidding me,” Peter argues with a man clearly suppressing his hurt. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Read it for yourself,” Vision offers, stepping aside to give Peter full view of the screen. Fine, he’ll accept it. (And he isn’t sure why he’s feeling so combative; it’s not like Vision deserves this from him after all of this shit.)

Peter scans quickly through the beginning of the email, confirming everything his brother’s already informed him of. Even with the proof, he can’t get over what an asshole Brad is. And the asshole tone continues, no matter how far Peter reads.

 _It’s too bad we won’t be able to hang out_ , Brad writes, _but I’m honestly not going to miss the rest of it. I’m a city guy, I’ve always known it, and I’m so glad I convinced Wanda to sublet our apartment instead of giving it up outright. I can’t wait to be somewhere that feels like home again. Maybe you’ll drop in sometime and see the place, huh, Vision? We’ll be able to do so much more when you visit me in Manhattan. Email’s not too bad until then though, or FaceTime, or whatever you prefer. I’ll follow your lead._

Dick. What Peter’s getting from this is that Brad’s happy to keep up his friendship with Vision as long as Vision does all the work. The other thing is that Brad’s made his point about preferring city life―made it several times over―but why did _Wanda_ need to leave? From what she said on the day that Tony visited his sons at the Park, she was content there. _And_ she’s just launched her business. Who the fuck cares if Brad stays? Vision definitely wouldn’t. As much as Brad’s probably flattering himself that his new android buddy would weep oily tears in his absence, Peter knows the guy would be quickly forgotten, even good-riddanced, if it resulted in Vision getting more one-on-one time with Wanda. Frowning, he turns from the screen to look at his patient brother.

“Too bad they couldn’t say goodbye.” Peter’s tone shifts from careful to sly. “The nice thing is that your buddy Brad will get to see you more once you and Wanda acknowledge that you’re a couple and, you know, actually go on a date. Then you’ll be Brad’s friend _and_ his sister’s boyfriend. Right?” he prompts. “There’s no way Wanda’s going to be gone for more than, what? A week? Brad can’t _make_ his sister stay with him. He doesn’t need a babysitter.”

“Perhaps not, but Brad specifically states that they plan to stay in Manhattan until the spring.”

“The _spring_? Are you sure? It’s only December! That’s like... three months!”

“Look,” Vision says, directing Peter to the relevant section of Brad’s email. He decides his brother is reading it too slowly and so speaks Brad’s words aloud: “‘Wanda doesn’t think she’ll be able to stay away from the restaurant for more than a couple of days, but I don’t know about that. I can’t believe how fast she forgot about the life we had in the city. Once we’re back, she might never want to leave again. I think it’ll be good for her to settle in one place. Maybe do a couple of short visits to check in with the restaurant, but then figure out how to run it remotely. You and I both know how capable of that my sister would be. I can’t see her needing to come back for longer until March, because she’s already been talking about how to transition the menu from winter to spring. Anyway, hope you guys have a great Christmas. See you when I see you. Brad.’”

“There,” he concludes, taking a deep breath. “Clearly, they’ll have no real need to return until spring.”

“Clearly,” Peter counters, livid at Brad’s stupid (and successful, which makes it even _more_ stupid) scheming, “Brad’s trying to make sure they won’t.”

Vision’s expression shows bald confusion.

“Surely,” he begins, “it would be an insult to Wanda to assume that she couldn’t decide for herself.” He pauses. “I’d better show you one more thing.”

With that, Vision scrolls back up to a chunk of the email he buzzed past before. Peter just _knows_ this can’t be good. As with his physical wounds, it seems like Vision’s too stoic hiding his emotional ones. Peter reads.

_Wanda’s been so lonely since we moved Upstate. Maybe you noticed that too? She tends to be shy, a little reserved, because of her powers. When she isn’t in super-company, she gets self-conscious. Luckily, we have a lot of friends in Manhattan, and having friends is great, but even better is that they can help me convince my sister to try some dating apps. Imagine the number of people who’ll want to go out with a smart, biologically-enhanced, business owner. She’ll have her pick. Knowing Wanda though, she’ll probably settle down with one guy pretty quickly. When you come to visit, you’ll probably be meeting Wanda’s new boyfriend! Fingers crossed._

Vision closes the letter and Peter blinks in the sudden absence of blue light from the holograph. His brother looks heartbroken.

“There you have it,” Vision concludes. “I suspect you’ve been the only person considering the idea of a relationship between Wanda and myself to be a given. It has evidently not crossed Brad’s mind, nor his sister’s, if he anticipates being able to soon persuade her to date widely. Is there any alternative interpretation?”

“Uh, yeah, actually, there is! I’ll tell you, as long as that wasn’t a rhetorical question.”

“Please do.”

“It’s so obvious,” Peter informs his brother sadly. “Brad thinks he’s breaking you guys up before you can fall in love, though, I mean, too late for that. I don’t think he even really wants Wanda to date other people. He’s too protective of her. All he can do is put distance between the two of you and hope you, I don’t know, forget about each other, so that’s what he’s doing.” He can see Vision’s scepticism, so he tries again. “Trust me, man. You two are so _obvious_ together, Wanda as much as you. There’s no way in hell Brad hasn’t noticed. If Michelle even once looked at him the way Wanda looks at you, Brad would be jumping in the car to go ring shopping. Those assholes―excluding Wanda, of course―think we’re a bunch of rich, cultureless snobs. Brad will probably never change his mind about us. But he won’t be able to change Wanda’s mind either, and I know she wants _you_. His plan’s never going to work, it’s just irritating as _fuck_.”

Vision gives him a fond look and Peter knows his argument hasn’t worked. Sometimes (all the time), his brother puts too much effort into considering everyone’s side and forgets to be on his own side the most. He doesn’t always have allies where he expects them to be. In some ways, he’s much more naïve than Peter is, which is saying a lot.

“You always judge Brad so harshly,” Vision notes.

“Dude, he _deserves_ it.”

“You know I don’t agree. I almost wish I did, but I’ve never been able to allow myself to take the easy way out. It’s for the best that I face the truth now, Peter.”

Peter groans in frustration.

“The easy thing _is_ the truth! Wanda has a huge crush on you and if you want to believe Brad’s bullshit over that, then...” He throws up his hands in lieu of a verbal finale. He’s out of words for the moment. Apparently, there’s nothing he can say to his brother that will make him understand what’s happening.

“It isn’t what I _want_ to believe―”

“Just...” Peter sighs. “Make up your own mind, ok? Not with algorithms or measuring a ridiculous number of possibilities against each other. Go with your gut, Vision.”

He can’t stand his brother’s doubt for another second and he storms out. Yeah, it’s probably shitty of him, but his patience only lasts so long. Peter huffs, taking the stairs instead of the elevator. Once he’s in the stairwell though, he sits on a concrete step, his frustrated energy collapsing on top of him. Why can’t Vision see what’s best for himself? The guy’s a born genius and he’s a moron the second his own feelings come into play. Maybe that’s what makes his brother human, more than anything else. Self-deception.

After a few minutes of grumpy brooding, Peter has to go back to at least make sure Vision hasn’t pulled that email up again to stew in his misery. They have a stilted conversation. It involves purposely ignoring their disagreement about the larger issue in order to agree on what to tell their dad, who’s going to flip out the second he hears Wanda’s left the Park. The brothers decide pretty quickly that the fact of their neighbours leaving is about all Tony needs to hear, for everyone’s sake. What would bringing up Brad’s email do? Sure, it would almost certainly land their dad on Peter’s side, but putting Vision through further pain aggressively cancels that out, as far as Peter’s concerned.

Tony takes the news about as badly as they thought he would, but at the same time, he’s also more optimistic than either Peter or Vision. Could be delusion rather than optimism. He’s recalling the promise he extracted from Wanda after their late exit from her open house―the promise of her coming to the compound so that they’d have a chance to cook for her. He had Pepper pencil something into the calendar (he’s pretty sure she really did write it down and wasn’t only humouring him) and anything in the calendar is going to be taken seriously.

Peter isn’t as convinced that a second of Wanda’s fleeting acceptance will be enough to weigh against Brad’s determination to keep his sister in Manhattan. Unfortunately, besides putting a hell of a lot of stock in Wanda’s feelings for his brother, he isn’t exactly sure what he can do about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LOVE WRITING PEPPERONY! Also, slipping in the Nebula moments. What's more wholesome than Nebula giving Morgan a piggyback ride? Nothing! Let's all hang onto that fluffy interlude when Flash continues to complicate the Starks' lives in the next chapter...


	12. Saint Ned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The least agreeable circumstance in the business, was the surprise it must occasion to Elizabeth Bennet, whose friendship she valued beyond that of any other person." - _Pride and Prejudice_ , ch. 22

Ned has never been Peter’s guy in the chair quite so literally before. When the Starks (plus the seemingly omnipresent Flash) have dinner at Leeds Lodge, Ned scrambles into the seat between Peter and Flash. With how overwhelmed Peter’s been feeling―his dad’s disappointed in him, Brad “Dickhead” Maximoff is trying to ruin his brother’s life―he barely has the energy to sustain a normal conversation, let alone whatever snide, wounded comments Flash might try to make. His best friend is seriously a lifesaver. By allowing Flash to ramble on with no clear end in sight, Ned grants Peter the break he hasn’t been getting at home.

Peter actually doesn’t know how Ned keeps it up all evening. In the history of their friendship, he’s never seen Ned snap, and hardly ever known him to show frustration, but if anyone could provoke him, Peter would expect it to be Flash. And yet, nothing. Ned remains eternally friendly, making encouraging noises or tossing out monosyllabic agreement when Flash leaves him a gap. When the dinner stretches into an impromptu games night and the best friends are in the kitchen, digging through cupboards to round up some snacks, Peter takes the opportunity to give Ned some hard-earned praise.

“Dude, _thank you_ for running interference with Flash,” he says quietly, eyeing the doorway to the living room. “He’s been a total prick since I turned down his offer and as much as I hate the constant yakking, the hostile silence was worse. You’re a total saint, man.”

“That’s why I’m here,” Ned smugly assures him. They burst into laughter that takes away some of the tightness in Peter’s chest.

And being his best friend’s shield _was_ the reason Ned intercepted Flash on more than one occasion, but another motive has been developing. One that he won’t exactly own up to. (Or own up to _at all_.) The fact is that Peter isn’t the only one spinning his wheels―post-grad, moving back in with his parents, living a pretty isolated existence in their little Upstate community instead of applying his degree to a job in the city. _Any_ city. Ned and Peter aren’t the same, they don’t face the same challenges, and Ned would never pretend that the things keeping his best friend from a more fulfilling life are anything he knows how to relate to. Sure, the Snap was hard on his family, like it was on almost everyone’s, but he doesn’t have symptoms of alien-battle PTSD to cope with on top of that. Ned’s problems are boring: too many Journalism majors, not enough jobs, and the impossibility of living someplace like NYC without a steady (and hefty) paycheque.

He and Peter have never really discussed it, but the advantages Peter has are glaringly obvious. No, not the super-senses and the durability and the means to leap off the top of skyscrapers and not die. Money. It’s tragically simple. The Leedses are comfortable, but the Starks are the Starks. Ned’s more than sympathetic when Flash comes along and tries to pester Peter into taking a step that, mentally, he just isn’t ready for, but Ned’s also not an idiot. He knows that opportunity has to go to someone. Although it feels slightly perfidious the first time it crosses his mind, Ned thinks, _why not me?_ When Flash accepts him as a stand-in for Peter and Ned finds that their personalities don’t clash the way Flash’s and Peter’s do, he thinks he might honestly have a shot. Will Peter―his best friend in the whole world―really hold it against him if Ned salvages this chance Peter already threw away?

With sitting together at dinner and playing every game on the same team adds to their shared experiences, the only thing Ned feels like he needs to convince Flash to consider him―as not just Spider-Man’s neighbour, but an intelligent and capable business partner―is more time. Ned’s an easygoing guy and he can work some camaraderie magic in half an hour if he has to, but he figures choosing someone to bring into a multi-million-dollar (or even a billion, Ned doesn’t know) business is a process that takes time. A certain level of trust would need to be established. Flash won’t be hanging around for too many more days, so Ned’s left half wishing he started trying sooner, and half glad that he won’t be betraying his best friend.

He underestimates Flash’s capacity for hasty decision-making.

The next morning, Flash is back at Leeds Lodge. When Ned opens the door, he automatically looks past the guy, searching for Peter or some other member of the Stark family, but their guest is on his own. And from the looks of it, he walked. Ned assumes he was attempting to leave the compound on the sly, so he doesn’t remind Flash of the Starks’ excessive personal surveillance system; Tony probably trailed him over here with a drone.

As he’s ushering him into the living room, Ned doesn’t have the chance to brainstorm reasons why Flash might drop by on his own, and it doesn’t matter. Flash’s motivation is both the most and least likely one: he wants Ned as his business partner. Evidently, he gleaned enough from Ned’s significantly briefer contributions to their conversations to realize that, hey, having a Journalism major on board might be really valuable for things like superhero liaising and reshaping Thompson Integrated Trust’s public image, now that a new Thompson is at the helm.

Flash spins the handful of details he’s learned about Ned’s life into a speech that lasts several minutes. Meaning everything happens so fast, but also kind of slowly. Although Flash is the longwinded one, Ned’s breathless as well when he stops talking, focusing all of his energy on not externally freaking out. Jumping for joy feels like a very rational response in the face of his amorphous future being suddenly secured. Flash promises an imminent contract signing. They shake hands like a couple of professionals. That’s good enough for Ned, and good enough for his parents; he tells them when they get home from work, spending a few hours giddily gaming in the basement in the meantime and trying not to think about how Peter’s going to feel.

Still, he can’t help having his best friend on his mind while his parents hug him and order too much takeout as a treat. Peter should be here, celebrating with them. They’ve been each other’s family forever. Ned only hoists his smile up when his parents are looking directly at him and barely hears their enthusiastic forecast for his career. He should try harder. He knows they’ve worried about him―like Tony and Pepper worry about Peter and the rest of their kids―because he wasn’t ‘on track,’ he wasn’t as ‘established’ as they were at his age. Now, he’s changed everything in one day.

God, after Ned signs that contract, a cut of the Stark money will be paying his rent, buying his groceries. That’s how it works, right? Flash owns TIT, TIT owns Stark Industries (even if, so far, it’s a nonintrusive ownership), the money flows out of the capitalist faucet and some of it drips on Ned? Whatever, he’ll have plenty of time to learn about businesses once he’s co-running one. This is _nuts_.

Minus his best friend to bounce all these thoughts off of, Ned spends the time before the food arrives lying in bed, staring at his ceiling, and doing some ruminating. Usually, when his parents are overly excited about something, it’s time to be wary, but he really thinks he did ok accepting Flash’s offer. Flash talks too much and is pretty self-important and can be a little mean and, yeah, obviously doesn’t put a hell of a lot of thought into big decisions. None of that changes the reality of their impending partnership. Ned hasn’t thought much about him either―not Flash or his company. He isn’t part of the Flash Mob and he never pictured himself working anywhere other than the bustling, stylized newsroom of movies, where a harried someone would send him out to get the scoop, and the boss would always be yelling from his office at the top of his lungs, and every reporter would have a pencil tucked behind their ear. (And he always imagined himself swapping his current favourite hat for a flat cap, like a 1930s paperboy, for some reason.)

It turns out, Ned’s future isn’t going to be what he thought, but, starting to fall asleep, he wonders whose ever is. He worked hard all through school at what he wanted to do, and now, by chance, he’s going to end up somewhere completely different. No typewriters clacking (Ned’s visions of the future have been ironically historical), no white blinds clanging against the editor’s door when they slams it shut. He can’t say he’s not fortunate. He might be the luckiest guy in the world.

...If he still has a best friend once he confesses to Peter. Before Flash left the Lodge, Ned made him promise to keep the news to himself (and he knew what an ask that was for someone whose favourite kind of talking is bragging). It’ll be the first test of the trust they’re going to have to solidify sooner or later.

* * *

The day Flash sneaks off to see Ned is also the day before he’ll finally be leaving the compound and the Starks are no longer on their best behaviour. They tell themselves they gave it the old college try, though some of them care significantly less than others that standards have slipped towards the end of their guest’s stay. Regular hours for meals and sleep have been almost completely abandoned (by everyone but Peter, Vision, and, of course, Pepper), so Flash decides to execute his predictably pompous farewells on the night prior to his departure, since he has no guarantee of how many of them will be awake when he leaves in the morning. Maybe Mr. Stark; he never really seems to sleep. During his visit, Flash has seen his idol down a fucking _tonne_ of coffee.

Tony really has been on a building bender, with too much caffeine and insufficient zees―that’s why he neglected one of his favourite hobbies and failed to watch the security feed yesterday when Flash made his escape. Thanks to his ignorance, he has zero reason to suspect that Flash has gone behind his back to make a deal with some kid who isn’t Tony’s. The result is that Tony’s both present and civil at Flash’s farewell. He even gives the guy an open invitation to come stay with them again, whenever he’s in the area. (It’s important to note that Tony isn’t expecting Flash to ever have cause to be in their area unless it’s to see _them_. So yeah, the invite’s a little cheeky, a little sarcastic, a little self-serving, but that’s Tony.)

“You betcha,” Flash assures his host. “I’ll be back before you get a chance to miss me. Iron Man,” he adds, still ridiculously delighted to have met one of his heroes in person. None of the pedestrian details of the Starks’ home life have diminished the wonder of sharing a space with this living legend.

Pepper is immune to the flattery her husband’s glowing with at Flash’s words; all she feels is alarm. Hasn’t Tony been paying attention to the atmosphere of constant stress, the in-fighting, the ceaseless _talking_ that’s been going on since their guest arrived? If he’s not going to try to discourage a speedy return, _she_ sure as hell is.

“You better check with Fury before you make us any promises,” she teases in a motherly tone, trying to make it sound like she’s looking out for Flash rather than her own peace and quiet. “I’m sure he has his own plans and we wouldn’t want you to get in trouble.”

At the fluffy idea of getting ‘in trouble’ being the consequence of disobeying Fury, Tony has to turn his laugh into a hacking cough. Harley thumps his dad on the back.

“Wow, thank you for looking out for me, Mrs. Potts,” Flash gushes, “but you don’t need to worry about me. I’ll definitely check in with the boss-man before I come back.”

Her posture stays stiff as Flash continues to make his return sound like an inescapable event, something they can’t RSVP ‘no’ to. Damn Tony for offering to have him back so readily. Is she the only member of this family who thinks things through?

“Well,” Pepper says, taking a deep breath to dip into the store of pleasantness she saves for Stark Industries’ densest, most difficult contacts, “we won’t be offended if you can’t make it back to the compound for a while. We’ll _completely_ understand if Fury needs you in the city, which I’m sure he will, since you two seem to have such a... special working relationship.”

This time, Tony needs to practically bring up one of his lungs to cover his laugh, but Flash isn’t paying attention; Pepper’s complimented him in exactly the right way by mentioning Fury’s regard for him. (A regard they have no actual proof of, except that Fury hasn’t had Flash disappeared yet. That’s something. Pepper isn’t sure she could be as strong if she had to deal with their guest over a longer period.) Flash gives her a grateful smile.

“Thank you, Mrs. Potts. _Pepper_. You’ve really treated me like one of your own, but, trust me, I can take care of myself once I leave.” He shakes hands with both her and Tony, interpreting the wetness in Iron Man’s eyes as the difficulty of saying goodbye to him rather than the unshed tears of hilarity. Finally, Flash turns to the siblings. “All the best, you guys. It’s been so sick getting to hang out with you.” His gaze lands on Peter. “Including you, Spider-Man. Take care, man.”

Finally, their guest is gone. When the family confers, they discover that there isn’t a single one of them to whom Flash hinted about a quick second trip. For the amount the guy manages to say, apparently, there are some things he never finds time to articulate.

Tony considers his kids as they lounge around the home that’s theirs once more. Wanda Maximoff leaving town is a setback, but he hasn’t given up hope that she and Vision will eventually unite―in business and more important ways, like he and Pepper did. Peter’s a lost cause, so Tony decides that, when Flash comes back and offers the partnership to one of the other kids (this is what Tony foresees happening), Nebula might be the Chosen One. She has a whole arsenal of formidable abilities, including a knack for thriving, or at least surviving, in any situation. Plus, she might smarten Flash up with her ruthlessness. He knows Harley won’t mind being passed over because, besides straining daily against his very _skin_ for independence, he’s too openly scornful of Flash to have a hope in hell. Tony snorts a laugh to himself and makes a face at Morgan when she copies him. At least he’ll have one baby home a little longer.

Yep, Tony has it all figured out, until Ned comes over for lunch and throws a Hulk-sized wrench (seriously, those exist―Tony had to redesign a bunch of tools on a larger scale so the newly-big Bruce Banner could build the time machine) into his plans. Of course, he doesn’t find out first. Ned herds Peter up to his room so they can have this conversation in private. When he confesses, he doesn’t go halfway; he spills every detail of his conversation with Flash the day before, trying not to look at Peter’s face because his expression is distractingly shocked.

Ok, sure, the concept of Flash and Ned working together crossed Peter’s mind the other night when they teamed up for Pictionary. It seemed very possible that Flash would be pushy enough and irreverent enough to ask. What Peter can’t get over is that his best friend would intentionally court this job offer, let alone say yes. It’s always seemed like he and Ned think the same way, have the same reactions, share the same opinions. If Flash’s proposal was something Peter would reject, it would make sense for Ned to follow suit, wouldn’t it?

“He offered you the partnership?” Peter double-checks. “ _That’s_ what you agreed to? It doesn’t make sense.”

Ned’s upset for a moment. It kinda feels like Peter doesn’t think he’s worthy of the position. Was he assuming Flash gave him a completely different offer? What job did he think Ned said yes to? Being Flash’s janitor? No. No, his best friend would never think that. Ned’s had time to sit with this and it’s all new to Peter. He’ll come around.

“The longer you think about it,” Ned suggests, “the more sense it makes, believe me. Just because you weren’t a good fit to work with Flash doesn’t mean I wouldn’t be. He had to pick somebody. Can’t you be happy it was me?”

Peter tries to get his head out of his ass and tell his best friend what he needs to hear. Unfortunately, he can hear his mother’s voice in the congratulations leaving his mouth―too polished, too impersonal. There’s nothing in his words that sounds like him and Ned, not even an echo of the tune of their lifelong friendship. Ned hears it too.

“I get it. There’s nothing... I don’t think we should talk about it anymore right now,” he decides. “Maybe, once you’ve had time to think about this, you’ll see why I did what I did. It wasn’t to hurt you. This could really help me, Peter. _Really_ help me.”

“Yeah. Yeah, man, for sure,” Peter says numbly. He slaps Ned on the back like he always does, but it doesn’t feel the same.

They try hanging out downstairs with the family (minus Pepper, who’s at a meeting, and Morgan, who’s toiling through some math with a tutor as part of her schoolwork) and it’s not any better. Ned elects to head home right after they eat and Peter doesn’t talk him into staying. He mopes around, aimlessly looking for a way to deal with this news in almost every room of the compound. And it’s a lot of rooms. With everything feeling so bizarre, he doesn’t think it can get any stranger, so he goes to his bedroom and puts on the suit. He does the rest of his wandering on the ceilings, regaining his equilibrium as he paces upside down.

So Flash made the offer to Ned _two days_ after making it to Peter. Ned, who still takes immeasurable joy in Lego sets and Just Dance and has always been such a dreamer, decided to be practical and go into business instead of hustling for a job in the field he was educated for. His best friend and Flash Thompson, majority shareholder in Stark Industries, connected for who knows how many years to come! How the hell is Ned going to be happy with that? Eventually, Peter’s brain quits trying to reject the reality of Flash and Ned becoming business partners, though the weirdness doesn’t quite fade.

* * *

When Pepper gets back from her meeting, she catches Peter’s eye and gives him a strange look. At first, he thinks it’s just that she’s the only one who’s actually noticing that he isn’t himself right now (and hasn’t been since Ned’s visit). Then he realizes that, somehow, she knows too. Once she’s made herself comfortably barefoot and rounded up the family, she lays out a neater version of the story Peter heard this morning, starting with, “So, I was talking to Celia Leeds...”

 _Right_ , Peter recalls. Both his mom and Ned’s are members of the local council. Hearing his mom reiterate Ned’s news is kind of a relief. First of all, he loses the low-level dread he’s been feeling at the thought of having to tell his dad, and second, he doesn’t have to keep wondering if it’s a secret that he’s not supposed to share. Having it all to himself even for an afternoon felt toxic, possibly bad for his health.

Tony tells her straight off that she must have heard wrong and Pepper does that thing where she looks patient and murderous at the same time. It’s a very niche type of sarcasm, and Peter admires it all the more for his continued inability to replicate it. Harley reacts like his usual self. So, like a second Tony.

“No, Mom, remember? Flash wanted _Peter_ to be his business partner.”

She checks his condescension immediately, but doesn’t bother arguing. Sometimes, Pepper finds that the best route with her boys is to say something once and wait for them to struggle through their pigheadedness until they accept it. Somewhere in there, they remember that she tends to know what she’s talking about and is, generally, a reliable source of information. She had her own doubts about this and that’s why she questioned Celia thoroughly to get the full story. God, her family thinks she’s some kind of amateur.

Peter’s still feeling the loss of his best friend (he doesn’t think it’ll be forever, but right now, it hurts) and is therefore ready to be a little more generous towards the people he _does_ have, including Harley. To stop his brother from being any more of an idiot by contradicting their mom, he jumps in to back her up. He can even add details that came directly from Ned. Vision quickly voices how unusual this seems, but emphasizes that it’s really far from impossible, and that he believes Peter completely.

While Harley comes around with a shrug, remembering that he doesn’t actually give a shit about Flash Thompson or who he hires, Tony’s much more belligerent. After he gets past flat denial, he announces that it’s Ned’s fault for tricking Flash into it. (Peter rolls his eyes and is ignored; at the same time, he finds out that it still feels good to defend his best friend, even with a gesture of passive-aggression.) Next, Tony explores the same idea that Peter had―that Flash and Ned just wouldn’t work well together, that it wouldn’t make Ned happy―but in much less sympathetic terms. Finally, he goes for a different brand of denial, reminding them all that nothing’s over until the fat lady sings. In this case, the fat lady takes the form of a contract that has yet to be signed. Also, he blames Peter. He blames him a _lot_. It all comes out as disappointment though because, after all, Tony was trying to make this happen to _help_ his son, to give him a future when it seems like the ways for him to do that are dwindling thanks to his own fucking slipups. Yeah, he mishandles this. He mishandles a lot of things.

Audience to the discord this stupid business proposal has caused between her husband and son, Pepper’s honestly happy that it’s over. She’s even happy for Ned―of _course_ she’s happy for Ned―who she’s watched grow up into an intelligent, bubbly, and optimistic young man. She can’t begrudge him this.

* * *

The holiday season falls abruptly around their ears like leaden snow and Peter fails to do most of the things he’s gotten used to doing as part of the Decembers he’s come to know since they relocated Upstate. He and Ned watch the 1966 and 2000 versions of _How the Grinch Stole Christmas_ back-to-back in the Leedses’ living room like they always do, but without their usual boisterous commentary. They go skating at the local arena (where Peter makes a few kids’ Christmas by doing his Spidey pose in pictures), but they don’t stretch out their afternoon by getting hot chocolate afterwards.

Generally, he continues to burrow deeper into the comfort of his family, swapping out time he’d usually spend with Ned for time with Vision instead. Acknowledging that his brother needs him makes it easier not to dwell on his strained relationship with Ned; Wanda’s been gone a week and, with no contact from her, it isn’t looking too likely that she’ll come back as fast as they want her to. Vision replied to Brad’s email―which is more than Peter would’ve done, since that guy is a _dick_ ―and is hoping to hear something about Wanda that way. Peter doesn’t want to say they’re getting desperate because, really, a week isn’t that long, but… they’re not _not_ desperate.

The email heralding a return trip that _does_ come in is from Flash. The family is universally exasperated―Flash has barely been _gone_. Apparently, he’s had a busy few days in Manhattan. Fury’s approved of his selection of business partner (fuck knows what he’s been saying about Ned to recommend him, seeing as Flash hardly knows him, Peter thinks) and is encouraging Flash to get the contracts signed ASAP. Flash also states, so blatantly that it makes Peter laugh, that he’s mainly coming to stay at the compound again so that he can spend time getting to know Ned without imposing on the Leedses. It’s like he’s treating their multi-million-dollar facility as a hotel that _he_ owns! That’s what makes it all so hilarious.

Harley and Morgan agree, laughing right along with Peter, but their dad isn’t thrilled at the way his invitation is backfiring. He couldn’t possibly want Flash back less than he does now that the guy primed to snatch Stark Industries out from under them is going into business with a kid who isn’t Tony’s. There isn’t much more Flash could do to piss him off at this point, but Tony’s sarcastically certain that he’ll give it a shot when he gets here. He points all of this out to Pepper, hanging around her office and talking at her while she ignores him to focus on running the company he keeps trying to dramatically give up on. When he plays the cripple card― _oh poor me, stuck in this damn chair, I can’t possibly entertain a visitor_ ―Pepper finally looks up. To glare at her husband. And to tell him to get over himself.

When Tony takes a break from grumbling about Flash, it’s only to grumble about Wanda not being around. The way he keeps flat-out denying the news that the Maximoffs will probably be away until the spring is making Peter more and more tense as he tries to manage his dad’s complaints to protect Vision from further heartache. The struggle isn’t helped by the fact that Peter’s seriously beginning to doubt that they’ll see Wanda again anytime soon. He assumed she would’ve gotten around her brother’s overbearing behaviour by now, but clearly, Peter underestimated Brad’s influence. Or, more likely, Brad’s influence _plus_ the draw of the city _plus_ the comfort of her old apartment, her old friends… It’s a lot to balance against her relatively new feelings for Vision.

Peter considers, if it was him and one of his siblings was trying to steer him in a certain direction… Would he insist on free will, the way he thinks he would, or would he trust his brother or sister’s judgement? Ugh. Peter stops thinking like that. He doesn’t _want_ to feel sympathy for what Brad’s doing. Even _Harley_ wouldn’t sabotage Peter’s happiness and call it looking out for him, and Peter knows his brother doesn’t have the greatest track record with honesty.

Of course, the unpleasantness of their father continually bringing up Wanda’s name is appreciably harder on Vision. He’s spent the years since the Battle of Earth gradually coming out of himself, presenting as increasingly human, and now, he feels as though he’s regressing, hiding his emotions and trying to shut off the part of himself that misses Wanda so terribly from the rest of his mind. He never felt _these things_ for someone before, nor is he certain of how to proceed now that his feelings seem to have been wasted. Heartbreak is profoundly foreign. He finds that he can’t even talk to Peter about it; to do so would be to risk unleashing what he has taken such pains to contain. Vision is resigned to existing as a paler version of himself.

It's one of their more miserable Christmases.

* * *

Flash is back too soon in the new year; Harley’s still nursing a bastard of a three-day hangover and trying to blame the damage on Peter for being his designated driver to the party. (Peter did _not_ come out of driving retirement for this.) Anyway, with Harley out of commission as the friendliest sibling and Morgan copying her brother… with Vision wrapped up in his own anguish and Peter devoted to shielding him from annoyances… with Tony unambiguously pissed at the deal with Ned… with Pepper never wanting to encourage another visit in the first place… and with Nebula nothing more or less than poised to eliminate Flash on any one of the Starks’ orders, the guy doesn’t get such a warm welcome this time around. But he makes it over the threshold and from there, like a well-adjusted houseplant, Flash pretty much looks after himself.

He's in the eye of a storm of self-congratulations, ecstatic about the contracts he’s brought hardcopies of (as well as emailing ahead to his future colleague), and not really in need of much from his hosts to buoy him. Flash doesn’t even spend a hell of a lot of time with them―he’s over at Ned’s, or with Ned at some other location, for most of the hours of most of the days of his visit. This suits the Starks just fine. And, actually, it’d be even better if Flash skipped the part where he apologized for not being around much. To put it the nicest way possible, no one minds.

Tony isn’t so much keeping his shit together as being kept out of the way by his wife and kids because they know how severely he doesn’t have his shit together. His tinkering during Flash’s visit is particularly destructive, but he doesn’t neglect his protective gear, so there’s no permanent damage. Even his eyebrows remain unsinged. Still, it’d be great if he could build a solution with his own two hands (and assorted assistive robots). The anger that he was _so close_ to getting a new business set up between Vision and Wanda fuels enough clanking that Pepper complains about the noise travelling and he switches to improving his workshop’s soundproofing.

Maybe they keep him away from Flash and Ned, when his son’s friend comes over, but he needs a vent for his sarcasm. FRIDAY can only absorb so much. One day, after Tony sees Ned and Flash leave the compound together on the security cameras, his wife makes the mistake of stopping by to check on him.

“Ned was here again, huh?”

“Hi, Tony, it’s nice to see you too. Think you might pause to take a shower one of these days?”

“What’s he doing, scoping this place out? You better tell him the compound’s in our name, not the property of Stark Industries. Don’t want him getting any ideas.”

“Have you been taking your meds?” Pepper asks, daring to walk closer. When Tony turns his head away, she touches his jaw softly, then slides his safety goggles up to rest on top of his head. “You need to manage the pain, Tony.”

“You’re missing the point,” he says, trying to convince her with puppy-dog eyes.

Despite her sleek pencil-skirted dress, Pepper pulls up a wheeled stool and meets Tony’s gaze on his level.

“Actually, I’m not. We have a lot more options than you seem to think we do. We could reassess our assets and buy out enough of our shareholders to regain the majority. We could sell our stake and cut the whole damn company loose. We could remain as silent partners while Flash and the board of Thompson Integrated Trust run it.”

The last solution, while appearing the least turbulent on the surface, is the one that makes Tony snort.

“And what would you do with someone else running Stark Industries?”

“ _Find another job_. Tony,” Pepper urges, taking her husband’s rough hands. “This family doesn’t need money or a technology empire to survive, but we do need you. We love you without it.” She leans her forehead against her husband’s. “ _I_ love you without it.”

“How quickly you forget that we met because I had the means to employ you.”

“Don’t be difficult.”

“I try, but so far, no luck.” She closes her eyes and sighs. Tony’s lips press against hers. “I’ll work on it,” he promises, going in to kiss her again.

Pepper sits back.

“And?”

“And I’ll take my pills when I’m supposed to, _Nurse_.” He gives her a flirtatious smirk that, after all these years, still makes her blush. “What do I get in return?”

“Better quality of life,” Pepper shoots back, rising. Before she can step away, Tony grabs her hips and pulls her into his lap.

He tucks his chin over her shoulder. She smells so good; good enough for the both of them.

“What else?”

Tony slowly breaks into a grin as his wife turns her head to whisper in his ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It hurts me to break up the Peter/Ned BrOTP, but these two will figure things out. In the meantime, more Pepperony!
> 
> In the next chapter, both Peter and Vision are deep in their respective feels, but their aunt and uncle come for a post-holidays visit! Time for the healing powers of a heart-to-heart with Aunt May!


	13. The Hogans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Her heart was divided between concern for her sister, and resentment against all the others." - _Pride and Prejudice_ , ch. 24

Brad’s return email comes like a swift kick to the nuts. That’s Peter’s interpretation, anyway, and he’s only experiencing the news second-hand after Vision reads him the email in full. It’s definite: the Maximoffs are spending the rest of the winter in the city. Brad puts that right up front, which is the least dick-ish thing he’s ever done, but then he wraps it up by mentioning how sorry Wanda was about not saying goodbye to ‘her new super-pals’ and Vision has to physically stop Peter from storming out the door (and presumably down to the garage, onto their backroad, merging onto the highway, etc. etc. until he gets close enough to deck Brad, but, you know, he doesn’t exactly have a plan for what happens between Vision’s room and his fist colliding with Brad’s jaw).

The best thing the letter accomplishes is also the worst―it removes all hope. Oh, Brad’s friendly in his wording, but he devotes an unnecessary paragraph to Wanda’s entrée into the world of dating apps, including a painful written montage of the guys who’ve shown interest in his sister so far. (Seriously, _fuck_ Brad. He’s being a total weirdo to talk about his sister’s dating life and unspeakably cruel to shove it in Vision’s face. Plus, it isn’t even believable; except to Vision, who still has a long way to go with trusting two-faced neighbours.) The only reason Peter considers this a good development is because he hates to see his brother left hanging. Ideally, the resolution is Wanda’s return and Vision getting to have a relationship with her, unimpaired by Brad, but maybe a clean break is the next best thing. He hopes his brother won’t send Brad any more emails.

Honestly, Peter isn’t thinking the best of Wanda after this either. How can she let her brother speak for her like that? How can she not even _call_ Vision, if she’s so sorry to have left without a goodbye? Maybe she’s too much like him, putting other people’s happiness and convenience before her own. It’s so frustrating! That’s a quirky quality when it doesn’t affect anyone else, but this is breaking his brother’s heart. Peter can’t understand if Wanda didn’t see how much Vision was into her, or if she never really cared as much as it looked like she did, or something else entirely. The answer doesn’t really matter and Peter and Vision would manage to suffer with or without it. After Vision reads Brad’s email to Peter, he won’t talk about it for days.

It's Tony who forces the subject on them again, following one of the flippant remarks about Wanda doing a bunk that he’s still sprinkling into conversations. The second he’s out of the room, Vision gives such a human groan of annoyance that Peter jolts in his seat on the couch.

“You know, some days I really do wish we could upgrade his filter,” Vision comments, which is the most kid-complaining-about-their-parent thing Peter’s ever heard leave his mouth. He doesn’t need to prod his brother to continue venting. “He’s clearly ignorant to the… the suffering his thoughtless remarks inflict on me!” Vision sighs. “He’ll move on from this soon enough and life will return to normal.”

Peter swears he has his eyebrows yanked up for a full minute before he exhales a floored, “ _Dude_.”

“You have to believe me,” Vision says calmly. “Life as normal. I won’t forget Miss Maximoff’s existence―indeed, my vast memory storage renders that impossible―but I will only ever think of her as a neighbour. I can attain neutral feelings on the matter, seeing as she has done me no harm. All this will require is time.”

The eyebrows lower and reposition to express concern. Vision shakes his head at Peter in response.

“I… misunderstood our interactions. Clearly, my ability to interpret human comportment is still imperfect, but this is an opportunity to learn―”

“Vision!” Peter blurts. “We’re pretty good at denial in this family, but you’re on another level, man. Thinking this is your misunderstanding? They never deserved you. _We_ don’t deserve you.”

His brother demurs, but he insists.

“Nope, until I hear you call Brad a meddling sonofabitch, I’m not accepting arguments. If you can think he’s better than human scum, then I can compliment you. Let me have this,” Peter insists with a grin. “The number of people I openly say nice things about is so small. All the assholes are already under your protection: Brad, _Flash_ , another one I don’t wanna talk about… Ok, I can’t think of anybody else off the top of my head, but you get it, man.”

“I don’t believe it does you any benefit to feel this way,” Vision counsels.

“Yeah, whatever.” He waves a dismissive hand.

“You should forgive Ned.”

“I feel fine about Ned!”

“ _Peter_.”

“Quit it. You’re doing the thing Mom does to Dad.” Vision stares at him. It’s completely unfair, not letting Peter avoid talking about Ned when talking about Ned would help Vision avoid talking about Wanda. What a sick mind game. Damn super-smart brother. “Ok,” Peter says, folding, “but how can I? If Ned took the offer just to get a job, he has zero integrity. If he really doesn’t mind Flash, then he has terrible taste in human beings! Neither of those things is who I thought he was! So don’t try to defend him,” he warns.

“Flash is an asshole and Ned has zero integrity,” Vision repeats.

“Kind of a trip to hear you say ‘asshole.’”

“I think you know you need to be less harsh. Ned is your closest friend.”

“I _don’t_ know,” Peter replies petulantly, avoiding his brother’s stare.

“Who is the assho- _person_ ,” Vision corrects when Peter’s eyes get wide and excited, “you wish not to discuss? Not Wanda?” he pushes when his brother won’t answer. “One thing I am certain of is that she hasn’t hurt me on purpose.”

“I didn’t say she did it on purpose, but she still did it and, thus…” Peter waves his arm before delivering the verdict. “ _Asshole_. And if you don’t stop me, I’m dragging her brother into this too.”

“You still think this is Brad’s doing?”

“ _Yeah_ , Vision. Brad and Michelle too, probably.”

“But they both care about Wanda. If she had elected to enter into a relationship with me, thereby proving her happiness, they would have supported that. What would their motivation have been to destroy it?”

“First of all, who am I? Sherlock Holmes? Dude, don’t take to me about motivations. Second of all, you’re wrong about assuming they’d support everything she does. Some things, sure, but Brad and Michelle would definitely have their own agendas.”

“Agendas which depend on Wanda locating a superior match through an app,” Vision sarcastically expands. Peter narrows his eyes at him. “Your argument supposes that Wanda was more than passingly interested in me, that Brad and Miss Jones were aware of this, and that, despite, Wanda’s feelings, she allowed herself to be dissuaded by her brother in matters of her own interest. In this version of events, every other person is either conniving or stupid and _I_ am the biggest fool of all for defending their bad behaviour. Accept that I was incorrect in my assessment of Miss Maximoff’s feelings. It does not bother me to have misjudged them, especially not in contrast to how upsetting it would be to find out the others had acted so intentionally against me.”

It's denial. Such an infuriating thing when it’s not Peter’s own, employed for self-protection. Instead of pushing, he stops mentioning Wanda’s name. Vision doesn’t either.

Tony’s a little less helpful on that front. Whenever Peter hears him say the name, he hurries over (across rooms, down hallways, over furniture, springing off the walls) to intercept his dad before he can vent to Vision. Peter tries to sell Tony the line that he can’t manage to make himself buy: that Wanda never cared that much about Vision, so everything Tony’s bemoaning would’ve never worked out. Tony grudgingly acknowledges it as a possibility, which is great, until he’s changed his mind again by the next day and Peter has to convince his dad all over again. It’s like that really old movie, _50 First Dates_. Tony’s one sustainable comfort is imagining Wanda’s extended stay Upstate over the summer months. Because who wouldn’t consider being isolated here a holiday?

With Peter frazzled by his role as the intermediary between Tony and Vision, Pepper makes sure to check in on him. She takes time away from whatever she’s doing to protect the core structure of Stark Industries against Flash’s potential fiddling to gently nudge Peter away from his brother’s problems.

“Hey, kid,” she says, stopping in the doorway of his bedroom one afternoon. “I’m really proud of the way you’ve been there for Vision lately. You’re a credit to this emotionally dysfunctional family and he’s lucky to have you.”

Peter shrugs. Not _that_ lucky; he hasn’t really done anything to help.

“I’m hoping that this will end up being a good thing for Vision,” Pepper continues. Her son’s face says _tell me another one_ , but he doesn’t go so far as to roll his eyes. “Honestly, Peter. Caring about someone like that is a big step, even when it doesn’t work out. I want him to see how much he’s capable of. Not just with his mind or his abilities.” Being suspiciously casual, she enters his room and sits on his bed. Peter swivels in his chair to face her. “I want that for you too,” she says.

“Oh, Mom, no, I don’t think―”

“What about Liz, hmm? She sounds great.” Pepper flashes an encouraging smile. “And the best thing will be how your dad gets too involved in your relationship because of their mutual interests.”

She’s gotten to him and Peter has to laugh.

“That would be a sick joke if it wasn’t the truth,” he tells her.

“Well,” his mom says with a game shrug, “let’s find out.”

So, Peter finally gets Liz to the compound. He’s nervous as hell that first time. Showing her around, he catches himself repeatedly trying to tuck his hands up into his sweater sleeves like he did when he was a teenager (three whole years ago), but it gets easier. And it feels worth it. Liz’s sweetness and her bright, intuitive intelligence bring a different energy to the compound. Peter hears himself talking more, feels himself bouncing when he walks, even sees himself displaying a shade of his father’s showmanship when he reveals his family’s labs and workshops. His mom was totally correct about Tony trying to monopolize her, but she’s just as good about intervening to give Peter and Liz time to talk on their own. They aren’t official yet, but he has a good feeling. He does have to internally admit that he thinks about kissing her almost every time she looks at him. _Alright_ , every time.

The Michelle Jones thing barely even matters anymore, in the sense that it seems to weigh less heavily on Liz after she gives the Starks a simplified version of the story over dinner. They’re as sympathetic and supportive as Peter could want them to be. Mostly, they’re happy to assure Liz that none of them really liked Michelle even before they knew any of this. (Minus Flash, who doesn’t want to be hasty about a quasi-relative of Fury’s; he does his awkward best not to choose a side while also kind of choosing both.) They feel smugly vindicated that, after being out of the saving-people racket for a few years, they can still sense a bad guy.

Vision, unsurprisingly reluctant to badmouth someone, keeps his thoughts to himself.

* * *

The mood picks up even further when Flash leaves (again). According to him, he and Ned have really been bonding and as tough as it is to interrupt their fledgling partnership (Flash compares it to the Backstreet Boys breaking up), he’s looking forward to personally getting Ned’s new office ready for him, as well as scouting him an apartment―to be paid for by Thompson Integrated Trust as one of the many perks of Ned’s new job. Like last time, Flash is profusely thankful and no one’s hand goes unshaken. The one difference is that Tony doesn’t extend an invitation for him to come back soon. Pepper sighs in relief when the door closes.

The month for a steady stream of guests is supposed to be December, but they seem to be a month off because it’s still January when, less than a week after Flash’s departure, Happy and May arrive―Pepper’s brother and sister-in-law. Happy managed to tear May away from the job she’s so tirelessly passionate about to take her on vacation over the holidays, so they’re doing the traditional family visit a little later than normal. Their fading tans contrast with the snow visible from every window of the compound; it’s not a lot, but every time it melts to almost nothing, a couple fresh inches fall overnight.

The Starks welcome them warmly. Their definition of the word ‘family’ is pretty loosey-goosey, since it’s been stretched and tossed to cover the growing number of Avengers over the years, plus people most of them have never met (like Nebula’s late sister, Gamora), so Tony’s always seen Happy as his own brother rather than an in-law. While he’s looking forward to discussing (complaining about) business matters with Happy, the kids are thrilled to see Aunt May. Maybe the joke’s a little tired, but at least one of them always reminds her that she’s their favourite aunt, though also their only aunt. Peter’s particularly close with her. Aunt May’s his go-to person for advice when his dad’s is too reckless or confusing and his mom’s busy with work.

May commands the room while she distributes the presents her nieces and nephews always say she really didn’t have to get them, then tear greedily into anyway, particularly Harley and Morgan. Pepper asks May about her charity work after the crinkle of wrapping paper has mostly subsided and May talks about it with enthusiasm. She also tosses a meaningful look in Tony’s direction when she mentions a sizable, end-of-the-year, anonymous donation. Somehow, they get one every December. How mysterious.

They break up their cozy living room tableau to have lunch, after which Tony herds Happy away to speak in private. His kids are weird these days; it’s almost like they don’t appreciate his comments about Wanda. Anyway, Happy’s always a good audience.

“The Wanda thing isn’t on Vision. Kid did his best and I think he was almost as disappointed as I was when it didn’t work out.”

“Uh huh,” Happy agrees in a somewhat incredulous tone that Tony chooses to ignore.

“Peter though.” He unlocks his wheels to rock forward and back, gaze roving the ceiling. “Everything was laid out for him. He could’ve been in Manhattan―contract signed, name on the door―right now if he wasn’t so...” Tony lifts one hand off a wheel to clench it into a fist. “…stubborn.”

“Yep, well, that was his choi―”

“Ned got his spot, did I mention that already? Peter’s best friend, Ned. Here are the things you’re supposed to give your best friend,” Tony informs his brother-in law, ticking them off on his fingers. “Birthday presents, the last slice of pizza―”

“I’ve _never_ seen you―”

“―weekends in Miami. _Not_ promising job offers that would’ve been the salvation of your grandfather’s company. Not the shirt off your back and the house you grew up in.”

“Peter didn’t grow up here,” Happy reminds Tony. “Wasn’t he in high school when you guys moved?”

“It’s good to see you,” Tony says, wheeling over and clapping him on the back. “Even if you do have an annoying habit of factchecking my rants.”

“Someone’s gotta do it.”

Meanwhile, Harley organizes his siblings for war, all of them armed with the Nerf guns May gave them as the slightly ill-conceived part of their presents. While he’s apportioning ammo and Morgan’s trying to negotiate her way up from Private to Colonel, Peter relinquishes his weapon to Nebula. Her eyes shine murderously as she considers her doubled offensive capabilities. With an amused grin, Peter slips away to see his aunt.

He gets the feeling that his mom’s already filled her in―somehow, Pepper manages to maintain a regular correspondence with her sister-in-law on top of everything else she does―but May welcomes the conversation like she’s been waiting to hear about it from Peter.

“Wanda would’ve been a good fit for our Vision, huh?” she asks with a sad smile, patting the arm of the chair across from hers so her nephew will quit pacing while they talk. “That’s too bad. Relationships, _love_ , they’re tricky. It sucks when things don’t work out, but you also don’t know when you’re missing out on one thing and a better thing is right around the corner, right? Look at your uncle and I. We didn’t find each other until later in life. Maybe Vision and Wanda will find each other again and the circumstances will be a little less messy.” May shrugs.

“When will _that_ be? I didn’t think things _were_ messy. They were actually pretty calm, you know, for our family, until Wanda’s brother fu- screwed everything up.”

“So, he fucked it up!” May agrees, throwing up her hands and making Peter smile. “But if we’re using those terms, it must have really been something. Their chemistry,” she clarifies, reaching for the coffee Tony made her earlier and taking a pensive sip while she watches her nephew’s face.

“I’m definitely not an expert, but, May, I’ve never seen Vision the way he was with Wanda in the room. It was pretty gross,” he laughs. “And obviously I don’t know Wanda that well, but she seemed right there with him, you know? They were never apart towards the end. You should’ve seen them at Wanda’s open house. In their own little world.”

She’s smiling, but she says, “God, that’s tough. Won’t make it easier for Vision to get over.” May takes another drink from her mug, forehead creased thoughtfully. “Hey, Pete, do you think a change of scenery would help him? He could stay in Queens with Happy and I for a little while. We just redid the spare room.”

“I think… yeah, I think that’d be good,” Peter decides.

Suddenly, his aunt winces.

“Unless it’ll be too painful for Vision to be there, knowing Wanda’s in the city too.”

“But he can’t stay away from NYC forever,” he points out. “It’ll probably be better this way, take Vision there sooner so that he can’t, like…”

“Develop an aversion?”

“Yeah. Besides, the Maximoffs are in Manhattan. Just keep Vision to the outer boroughs and he’ll be fine.”

“What if Wanda finds out Vision’s in town? Do you think she’d come to see him?”

“I guess it’s possible. Flash Thompson kind of has a thing for tracking enhanced people and if he hears about Vision and mentions it online… yeah, Wanda could see that. Or maybe she’ll, like, sense him or something. They have some kind of similarity in their energy signatures. I doubt Wanda would show up on your doorstep or anything though. If her brother doesn’t keep her away, her friend Michelle will.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhmm. She was never exactly friendly towards us.”

“Well, honestly, that’ll make things easier on Vision. He probably needs a clean break.”

“They weren’t actually together,” Peter reminds her. May just gives him a look.

The more he thinks about it afterwards, the more he realizes he shouldn’t be so quick write off Wanda’s visit. If she knew Vision was there, nearby, maybe she _would_ want to see him. Maybe whatever her idiot brother said to keep her and Peter’s brother apart wouldn’t be enough. Maybe she wouldn’t let herself be talked out of being near him a second time. Who knows? Certainly not Peter.

When May proposes the trip on behalf of Happy and herself, Vision immediately accepts. He phases after May hugs him in delight, a foam bullet passing through his head because Harley has yet to declare the war over. It’ll go on for days until Pepper intervenes and confiscates all the Nerf guns.

Happy and May agree to make a four-day long weekend out of their visit to the compound. May won’t be kept from her work any longer than that. Her husband has to admit the same. Tony comments that his boss must be ‘a real asshole’ and gives his brother-in-law a challenging look that Happy refuses to engage with, bowing out by scooping Morgan into a tight hug that leaves her legs dangling while he asks her to rescue him by taking him out for a hamburger. Morgan is thrilled to be selected as her uncle’s local guide and insists on her sister coming along. Happy tries not to smile too obviously when Nebula automatically reaches for her little sister’s hand; it’s a really nice thing to see. “Wipe that look off your face,” Nebula rasps, because of course she saw his proud expression.

Peter confesses that he forgot about inviting Liz up on one of the days his aunt and uncle would still be around, but that works for May. When her nephew’s just-a-friend shows up, she watches the two of them together. He’s said good things about this woman, but May can’t help being protective. Peter’s the kind of kid who could always use an extra person looking out for him.

May starts a conversation with Liz to be friendly and something unexpected happens―she discovers that she knew Liz’s mom way back when, both of them having been nurses before May sought a more wide-reaching way to help people. As they talk, she recalls getting drinks with the young woman’s mom, being shown envelopes from the photo lab of Liz as a baby, even tagging along for a girls’ weekend in... Massachusetts? Maybe New Hampshire? Another friend of Liz’s mom owned a cottage there, or her parents did, something like that. May asks Liz if she knows anything about that.

A little stiffly, Liz says, “Oh, that must have been the Joneses’ cottage.”

“That’s right!” May agrees, snapping her fingers.

When Liz realizes that Peter’s aunt doesn’t know the owners’ daughter firsthand, she warms to the subject of the cottage and Michelle’s parents, of whom she thinks so much. She has her own fond memories of the place and the people. Things turn solemn when she informs May of their deaths at the time of the Second Snap and, to escape from the dark direction their conversation takes, finds herself mentioning Michelle after all. She tells May that she wishes she could be more complimentary about the Joneses’ daughter. Naturally, May wonders what Liz means, and Liz fills her in.

May hears the same upsetting story the Starks are familiar with and tries to remember back over two decades. She never met Michelle Jones and lost touch with both her mother and Liz’s before the girls were out of childhood. Someone might’ve once mentioned to May that Michelle was a shy kid, but nothing worse than that. However, she listened to Liz’s story and saw the look on her face while she told it. May’s met a lot of people. She understands enough about human behaviour to get how a shy kid like Michelle Jones might’ve grown into an unsympathetic, withholding adult. It certainly sounds as though that’s what happened.

And yet… something doesn’t exactly feel right. Now, May doesn’t have any kind of super-foresight or ability to sense a bad situation, so she puts it down to Aunt’s Intuition. After Liz’s visit, she takes Peter aside.

“I don’t want to influence you either way,” she begins. “I want you to make up your own mind.”

Her nephew narrows his eyes.

“This is about Liz?” May nods. “You think I’ll listen?” he jokes.

“I think you’re enough like your mom that you will, yes. And the obstinate teenager act isn’t really your style.”

“Ok,” he invites. “Go ahead.”

“I just think you should… be careful. I can guess how badly you want to trust Liz and count on her, because you do need someone like that, but I don’t know about her, Peter.”

“Did she say something wrong?”

“Not exactly. It’s just… a feeling. She was polite and well-spoken and, and attentive when I was talking to her. Harley told me about her work and I can see how your interests might align…”

“But?”

“She’s older than you,” May says, grasping for a quantifiable excuse, since Peter doesn’t seem sold on her ‘feeling.’

He laughs.

“Mostly because of the Snap! Without it, Liz would only be two years older, which is nothing. She and I have already talked about that. It doesn’t bother either of us.”

“She travels a lot,” May tries next. “You need a more stable presence.”

“What is she doing, adopting me? I’d adjust,” Peter says, crossing his arms defensively. “Maybe I’d go with her sometimes, if that was ok with her.”

“You need to start making choices based on what’s best for _you_.”

“Why are you making this such a big deal?” he blurts. His aunt gives him a probing look.

“Because it _is_ a big deal, Peter. You’re talking about going from being with your family, staying in the safety of the compound most days, to suddenly travelling around the country at Liz’s whim. That woman knows who she is, Pete, even if she doesn’t show all of it. That’s not a bad thing, but it’s a tough thing to contend with while you’re still dealing with your own stuff. I don’t want you to just… _take off_ without thinking about it because she tells you to.”

“Then I won’t go with her,” Peter argues.

“What if she asks nicely?”

“May…”

“Peter, I’m serious. I want you to be careful.”

“I’m not in love with her, ok?” he exclaims, throwing his arms wide. “I’m not so far into this that I can’t think for myself! I like Liz a lot and I probably _could_ fall in love with her if we started going out, but I’m not there yet. This is Michelle’s fault, you know.”

His aunt raises her eyebrows at the abrupt change of topic.

“Michelle Jones?”

“If it wasn’t for her, Liz would’ve been able to stay in one place.”

“…And that place would’ve been Oregon. How would you have met her if she lived in Oregon?” May challenges. Peter sticks his tongue out at her and she laughs.

“Mom likes her, you know,” he says on a sigh. He runs a hand through his hair. “She thinks it’d be good for me to get out of the compound and be more independent again.”

“I agree with that, I just don’t know if Liz’s lifestyle is right for what you need.”

Peter lets his head flop back.

“Whatever I do, somebody’s disappointed.”

May reaches over and shakes his knee.

“ _Nobody_ is disappointed in you, Peter. You’re just related to a lot of people who try a little too hard to take care of you.” She smiles at him and he rolls his eyes.

“I just wanna go on a date like a normal person. Is that such a crime?”

“No, honey.”

He sighs again, more heavily.

“I’ll try to slow things down, stretch out the friend thing.”

“Having her over less should help,” May suggests. “I think texting is a safer bet until you can go a full minute without checking her out.”

“Oh god,” Peter groans.

“You’re fairly obvious about it.”

He sinks into his seat and his aunt leaves the conversation there, knowing that Peter heard her.

* * *

Flash is back, and this time, Peter doesn’t have Vision to commiserate with (well, a one-sided commiseration, since his brother’s always so reluctant to whine about people) because he’s left for Queens with May and Happy. At least Flash keeps his distance, not that it’s for Peter’s benefit. He’s staying at Leeds Lodge this time around. Flash came over and apologized for some reason, like the Starks would be offended that he didn’t choose to impose himself on them even more than he already has by, you know, owning the majority of Stark Industries. Anyway, the distance helps keep Tony off Peter’s back about passing on the job offer. Sort of. Mostly.

He's less annoyed with his son than Peter thinks he is now that Ned and Flash almost have things completely finalized. The point of no return is so far behind them. If this were a mission, Tony’d be taking the never-say-die stance he always did, but the fact of it is that the paperwork-y part of running a business is boring. (If there’s a way to still protest involving a form of some kind, Pepper’s refused to research, fill out, submit, or otherwise handle it for him.) He’s actually so over this business partnership that he’s wished Flash all the best every time their former guest has popped by the compound. And because Tony knows that Flash is somehow missing the heavy sarcasm in his tone, and is ignorant of Tony’s longstanding feeling that ‘all the best’ is possibly the limpest, least genuine phrase in any human language, it’s helping Tony finally get over it.

Ned comes by the compound on his own. Peter’s pretty sure (100% sure) it’s the first time his best friend’s showed up alone since the day he spilled about Flash’s proposal. He’s kinda nervous to see him with what happened, and what’s going to happen―Ned’ll be packing his stuff (all of it so familiar to Peter) into the trunk of Flash’s hired car and moving to Lower Manhattan the next day. It feels like the last chance. If they don’t fix this now, they might do the one thing Peter always thought was impossible for the two of them: drift apart.

When Ned arrives, Peter hustles him to his bedroom so that his dad can’t make sarcastic last-minute comments; he’s saving Tony from himself. It’s inevitable that his dad would regret any harsh words. This is _Ned_ , after all, which is something it might have taken Peter a little bit of time to remember. How important and rare it is to have a Ned in his life.

Following an uncertain moment in the doorway, they sink down onto the bed, side by side like they used to.

“You’ll text me, right?” Ned asks. So doubtful, so hopeful.

“Of course, man.” Peter pauses, then turns to his friend. His _best_ friend. “I’m sorry. I should’ve been figuring this out with you. I got it so, so wrong, man. The job wasn’t mine to give up, it was yours to accept. You deserve to move back to the city if that’s what you want, and work in whatever field you feel like. You’re smart and you’re talented and I treated you like my sidekick instead of like your own person who can earn things and decide things for yourself.” He sighs. It’s cathartic. “I’m an idiot for not being there for you.”

“Come on, Peter, you’re not an idiot.” Peter smiles. “You are, however, a moron,” Ned explains.

They laugh.

“I’ll really, really miss you,” Peter assures him. “Even with the texting, which is gonna be constant, ok? _Constant_. We should take new contact photos too, so it’s really embarrassing when I call and some stupid picture pops up.”

“Good idea,” Ned agrees.

They spend a few minutes working hard to find their least flattering angles, tilting the lamp on Peter’s desk to cast ghost-story shadows across their faces. The results are truly horrific; they update each other’s contact picture with glee.

“There’s one more thing,” Ned says when that’s done.

“Anything.”

“Please, Peter, no dramatics. I just want you to promise to visit. The constant texting is a good start, but… I can’t never see you, dude. If you feel ok about going back to New York.”

“I’ll do it,” Peter swears. Ned’s always known that he feels weird about returning, no longer Spider-Man, a little bit messed up from a little too much violence a little too young. All of that. Seeing his best friend is as good of an incentive as he could hope for to help himself get past this. “And you’re always welcome here. Dad’ll get over it,” he says when Ned looks unconvinced.

So, they figure it out. Peter says he’ll drive down in a couple of weeks, once Ned’s settled into his new apartment and job. Ned promises not to become better friends with Flash than he is with Peter, who didn’t ask for the promise, but had secret worries deep down, which always were the kind Ned was the best at seeing and allaying. They hug for a long minute at the door.

“Bythewaymyapartment’sinFlash’sbuilding,” Ned mutters as they separate.

“What?!”

“Bye!” his best friend calls cheerfully back while Peter rolls his eyes, standing in the doorway, until he remembers about the cold air and steps back inside.

Their goodbye the next day is easier― _well_ , there’s less to discuss, anyway. The Starks go over to Leeds Lodge and both families stand in the driveway, waving Ned away. Because Ned’s not the one driving, Peter texts him immediately and barely lifts his face from his phone for the rest of the day. He’s better the day after that. What? He and Ned had a lot to catch up on.

They don’t mention Flash outside of his capacity as Ned’s on-paper boss and in-practice colleague. Peter’s done with making things needlessly difficult for his best friend by tearing into the guy he’s seeing almost every day. Ned also hints at the idea of Fury, which is cool. Peter’s been taught to be super wary of the guy, but he can’t deny the draw of the mystique surrounding him. Now that Ned’s living in the city again though, there’s so much more to talk about. Even Fury pales slightly. Peter finds himself getting curious about the things Ned sees, the new restaurants he tries. Everything feels really good for them being hours apart from each other and Peter has something to look forward to.

Peter hears from Vision too, though his tales of Queens are a little less filled with wonder than Ned’s triumphant return to NYC. He’s not waiting on Vision’s hot take on a new pizza place though. What he really wants to hear from his brother is word about the Maximoffs, just to know where they’ll stand with Vision nearby. He doesn’t want to come right out and ask… but he does. He can’t take it! He needs to know if Brad’s as big of an asshole in his natural urban habitat.

All Vision can tell him is that he hasn’t seen or heard from either of them. He tries to explain this away, but Peter pushes. Why not find out for sure? Why not stop by? They know the address. (Tony found out, like a total stalker, then Vision had to ask Brad―back when the emails between them were marginally less dick-ish, on Brad’s end―so the knowledge would have a non-creepy explanation if he ever used it.) And at Peter’s urging, Vision does use it. He goes over there and Brad’s cold, aloof, pretends he didn’t know Vision was staying in Queens, though Vision sent him an unanswered email about it.

Vision asks about Wanda. It’s even harder to do when he’s facing Brad’s uncaring expression on top of the lump that rises from his heart to his throat when he thinks about her. Brad says his sister’s busy. When Vision attempts to enquire after specifics, Brad says, “Busy doing stuff with MJ.” He later tells Peter that, with his disappointment likely visible on his face, Brad perks up and says that Wanda’s been going on plenty of dates. And then, when he claims he has someplace to be, Vision leaves the apartment and heads back to Queens.

Peter’s past being mad at Brad for being Brad (most days), but he’s newly mad that Vision’s obviously not going to get to see Wanda. Does it seem like her brother’s gonna let her know Vision stopped by? Like hell.

Sure enough, a week passes and Vision doesn’t mention her name in his texts or emails (he sends Peter both kinds of communication, responding to his brother in the moment as well as tidily summarizing each day’s events). When Brad finally drags himself out to Queens to return Vision’s visit, he’s even worse. Just _worse_ , in general. That’s when Vision’s finally finished making excuses for his behaviour to Peter. In fact, when he recaps the whole thing in an email, agreeing with every point his brother ever made about Brad and his wiliness in intentionally keeping Vision and Wanda apart, he’s waiting for an _I told you so_ that Peter will never, ever provide.

They’ve really gone through this the hard way, but Vision comprehends better than anyone else that knowledge is never easy and Peter’s just happy to know that his brother’s not being tricked anymore. As far as the Stark brothers are concerned, Brad’s reputation is dead and buried.

In May’s phone calls―oh yeah, his family’s big on staying in contact―she treads lightly around the toxic Maximoff Issue. Apparently, she considers it way nicer to pry into Peter’s love life instead. She wants an update on the situation with Liz Allan. Thanks to something he saw online the other day (fine, it was two days ago―yes, he knows precisely the date and time when he saw it), Peter’s able to tell his aunt exactly what he figures she wants to hear, though he still mostly wishes he wasn’t saying it. Liz is involved with somebody else.

From the looks of things, and based on Harley’s confirmation, since he’s the one apparently tracking her timeline via Twitter and other platforms, even if Liz hadn’t gone to Pittsburgh in December as rumoured, she’s been there and back a couple times in the new year. Evidently, it’s been enough to meet somebody good-looking, and tall, and… green-eyed, from what Peter can tell when he zooms in close, secretly examining the Instagram photo of her with this guy. He snoops a little further and sees that the guy is a pilot for United Airlines. So, they have the frequent travel thing in common. It _sucks_ and Peter blames himself at first, but he’s also thankful for May’s intuition. Ok, maybe the intuition didn’t exactly say ‘Liz is about to start dating some handsome Pennsylvanian.’ Regardless, it held Peter back a step, helped him be a little more cautious. If Liz _really_ liked him, it wouldn’t have mattered that he slowed things down. Clearly, as interesting and smart and pretty as she is, she was _not_ the right person for him. Disappointing? Yes. Frustrating? Yes. Heartbreaking? Not quite.

Anyway, nobody else was the one and only genuine Spider-Man, so he knows that Liz is aware she’s giving up something good.

Peter unspools the whole story to his aunt, including his feelings, because she always presses him for those most of all and _always_ calls him on it when he tries to lie or sidestep or downplay. It helps that this thing between Liz and the pilot is probably mainly physical. Wait… _does_ that help, or does it kinda make Peter feel worse? He doesn’t explore that avenue with Aunt May.

It almost feels like time that he had a worry to confront (or avoid). His dad’s struggles are bigger, Vision’s are deeper. This ships-in-the-night near-miss with Liz could be Peter’s way of easing into the Stark men’s burden of, well, being alive. Although, that would mean the burden skipped Harley. That’s probably for the best. Peter’s brother is not mature, selfless, or even honest enough to have a relationship with somebody as grownup and sincere as Liz Allan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *tearfully* ...and I'd like to thank Ned and Aunt May for always being there for Peter!
> 
> Next up: Peter heads south to NYC, which means more Happy and May, a reunion with Ned, and Flash bringing Peter to tears. (If you're thinking _that's not canon_ for either the MCU or _Pride and Prejudice_ , you're right! Get ready for surprise feels!)


	14. To Tribeca

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Mrs Collins welcomed her friend with the liveliest pleasure, and Elizabeth was more and more satisfied with coming, when she found herself so affectionately received." - _Pride and Prejudice_ , ch. 28

January shivers into February. Peter newly appreciates how climate-controlled the compound is whenever he ventures outside―into the ‘yard’ (a loose term for a huge space) to play tag with Morgan or into Albany with Harley―and feels how sickeningly damp the air is, even between snowfalls when the ground’s squelchy and yellow. He’s trying to keep up his excursions though, and a little dampness is a pretty small obstacle compared to his anxiety at returning to the noise and crowds of New York City.

Within the first week of the month, Peter graduates from visiting Albany with his brother to driving there alone, searching for his misplaced independence with every intersection he drives through, every block he walks solo. It’s getting easier. That’s good, because he talked to Ned and he’s about to spend a week crashing at his best friend’s new apartment. They both left him room to back out, but Peter promised, and he hasn’t been doing this work on himself for nothing. He wants to be able to hang out with Ned and keep their friendship strong across the distance. There’s also a thought, deep in his mind, that maybe he won’t have to live with his parents forever. If he can only convince himself that he doesn’t need their protection so badly. If some part of the world could feel manageable again, just a piece of it.

Another thing is that a little break from Flash has helped Peter forget what a pain in the ass that guy is, so he’s dreading that encounter significantly less than when he promised Ned this trip while Flash was nearby. There’s the draw of seeing Vision too; since Peter’s heading to the city anyway, there’s no way he's not swinging by Queens to drop in on his aunt and uncle.

His mom drives him to the bus depot and hugs him extra-long from the driver’s seat before he clambers out of her car. Peter grabs his bag from the backseat, pulls the brim of his hat lower, and slips on the _don’t fucking bother me_ sunglasses his dad lent him for the occasion. With a final goodbye, he feels reasonably prepared.

Except that, by bizarre and initially-awkward coincidence, Liz Allan walks by the front of the depot as Peter’s about to step inside to wait for his bus to NYC. He lets the door close without walking through it because she sees him and there’s nothing else he can do. They don’t mention Mr. Pennsylvania and if Peter can somehow tell, from Liz’s expression and the way she stretches out the conversation, that she’s remembering how close they came―how he listened to her and comforted her and talked physics with her―well, he doesn’t gloat about being the one she let get away. Just nods and laughs when he tells her where he’s going and she reminds him to watch out for Fury. In a few minutes, as he boards the Greyhound and his thoughts shift direction from behind to ahead, the last thing he’ll recall about Liz Allan is her compassion.

Peter tries to sleep a little over the three-hour bus ride, but even though the bus isn’t jammed and he has an empty aisle seat beside him, the proximity of the travellers in the seats behind him keep him on edge and he doesn’t drop deeper than a doze. He pulls out his phone to distract himself with the happy, touristy selfies on Ned’s Instagram. When they’re getting into the city, he texts May because she made him promise to. She wants to pick him up when he arrives.

It's weirdly nice and normal to travel through these old streets by car. His aunt’s a careful driver, so Peter’s relaxing, staring out the window. May even lets him keep it open a crack―cold air breezing in―after the stuffiness of the Greyhound. It’s different down here, seeing buildings from the bottom-up instead of the top-down; a perspective as freshly-unfamiliar as the much bigger, more nebulous feeling of being back here at all. Nobody to save. Just one person to be.

Vision’s waiting right inside the door of the Hogans’ apartment building and Peter launches into his brother for a hug that he might not get otherwise. Vision tends to stray to the subdued side of physical contact, still hesitant in the more tangible aspects of being human. Peter knows he’s glad to see him though, his brother’s hand on his shoulder as May shoves at their backs, herding them to the apartment. Once there, they open the door to Happy _in an apron_ , grilling veggies for some crazy gourmet-looking sandwiches. May’s really into eating fresh, local produce, he explains as Peter nods along, trying to compartmentalize the shock of seeing Mr. Always In A Business Suit wearing an apron. Peter guesses he should really visit them more, so he knows what his uncle looks like in his natural state. This is another thing he wants to be able to leave the compound for, another thing that makes battling his anxiety worth it.

Over lunch, Peter watches his brother and determines that he looks more at ease, less, well, _sad_. Staying with their aunt and uncle agrees with him so far. That’s good, it’ll make it easier for Peter to head over to Ned’s tomorrow and not worry about Vision the whole time. He just wants him to be ok.

Because Peter’s only staying overnight and had a somewhat stressful time on the bus (which he confided to his aunt once he was in her car), the family stays in for the day. Minus Happy, later in the afternoon, who whips out his cell for a rapid conversation Peter tries to eavesdrop on until his uncle frowns and leaves the apartment. A second later, he’s back, motioning for Vision to go with him and closing the door again, as Peter cries out after him, “Come on, man!”

At least his aunt’s around, and she gets right to it, giving Peter the update on Vision that he doesn’t even need to ask for. Apparently, his brother’s still down sometimes, but it’s limited to maybe a half-hour here or there, rather than whole days of moping around at home. Definitely an improvement. May’s hellbent on maintaining Vision’s progress out of the doldrums of heartache while she has him here, under her wing. She’s fiercely optimistic and Peter’s grateful―lets her know it’s a weight off his mind. May also confirms that the Vision and Brad friendship is stone dead, though Peter never doubted his brother’s resolve once he realized what a crappy person Brad was to have in his life.

Inevitably, because it’s May and May loves him and prods him, they talk about Liz. His aunt informs him that he’s taking everything well. Peter’s thrilled to hear it, often a little confused and caught between how he’s dealing with something internally and how it looks from the outside. If May says it, it’s true; she sees through him like cling wrap.

“Do we know anything about the guy?” May wonders, hauling warm laundry out of the dryer for Peter to fold (she works hard all week at her job and on the weekends is forever in motion).

“Well…” he hedges as he gives a hand towel a sharp snap before folding it in half.

“Honey, I don’t want to bother you about it. It just seemed like you still think well of Liz and…” She tips her head side to side.

“What? You think I shouldn’t?”

His aunt smiles and sighs, elbows on her knees as she stays crouched on the floor.

“I’m curious what she thinks this guy has that you don’t,” May says, reaching over and giving Peter’s ankle a squeeze. “Obviously, the answer is nothing, but…” She grins up at him.

He snorts a laugh, shaking his head.

“Kinda sounds like you think it wouldn’t have been so bad for me to go out with her. Remember before? How you were totally against it?”

“I wasn’t _totally_ against it.”

“Uh, yeah, you were. Which doesn’t matter,” Peter reminded both of them, “because she’s seeing somebody else and it’s fine.”

“So, what is he―”

“He seems… fine,” Peter says, possibly overusing the word. Hard to summon enthusiasm for the current boyfriend of a woman he wanted to date.

“He’s fine and you’re completely fine about it,” May recaps. Her smile’s a little teasing, so he widens his eyes at her in annoyance. She laughs.

“Yep, and I hope you get over it as quickly as I have,” he jokes.

“I’ll never mention her again,” his aunt swears, going back to fighting a fitted sheet out of the dryer’s depths. “Who’s Liz Allan to me anyway? Just the daughter of a friend I had decades ago.”

“You’re kinda striking out with that demographic,” Peter remarks without thinking. He’s focused on folding and misses the way May glances at him.

“Which demographic would that be, Pete?”

“Daughters of old friends.”

“ _Oh_ , this is about Michelle Jones.” Her tone’s unnervingly sly.

“What? No. It’s not _about_ her, I’m just saying that… I forget what I’m saying.”

“You were talking about Michelle.”

“No! I’m not! I don’t have anything to say about Michelle, like, at all. Probably even less than she’d have to say about me!”

May gives him a look.

“What?” Peter demands, sagging with a half-folded sweatshirt in his arms (Happy wears sweatshirts too? Aprons _and_ sweatshirts? Wild).

“You just sound a little…” She shrugs. “…disappointed.”

Before he can make what _for sure_ would’ve been a multi-tiered, well-articulated, ultra-persuasive argument that not only is he not disappointed that he’s barely a blip on Michelle Jones’s radar, but that he seriously wasn’t even invoking anything more than the vague idea of her―vaguer than that even―Happy and Vision get back from wherever work made their uncle have to hustle off to on a Saturday. Peter shushes his aunt so she won’t say anything else about Michelle either as Happy pokes his head into the narrow laundry room.

“Hey, what are you guys talking about?” He looks down at his wife. “You ask him yet, sweetie pie?”

“Ugh,” Peter groans at the pet name, throwing his uncle’s sweatshirt at him.

“‘Ask me what, Aunt May?’” his aunt says, mimicking him badly. “Well, Pete, apparently, dragging me away from work over the holidays wasn’t enough for―”

“Vacation, baby, it’s called a _vacation_ ,” Happy cuts in. He’s leaning through the doorway now, doing some very _Godfather_ -ly hand gestures that Peter would like to note didn’t show up until after he married an Italian.

“So… wait… what’s happening?” Peter’s lost.

“We were thinking about taking a little drive towards the end of March,” May explains. “Staying in the New England area because―”

“Because May can’t stand to be more than a day’s drive away from her workplace.”

“Because it’s _pretty_ ,” she counters, snatching up one of the pairs of socks Peter’s balled together and tossing it at her husband. Throwing laundry isn’t something Peter knew he and his aunt had in common. “And it’ll be spring then. Massachusetts, Vermont, New Hampshire maybe? You in?” she asks her nephew.

“That sounds…” He thinks about it. Imagines picturesque little towns and a lot of green. “…nice,” Peter decides.

“Whoa, tone down the excitement,” Happy says dryly.

Peter snorts.

“Really, you guys, that sounds great. Like, super relaxing. Sounds perfect.”

“We’ve been thinking what a great thing it’s been for Vision to have a little break from his day-to-day,” May says, groaning theatrically when her husband steps forward to grab her hands and pull her up to standing. She sighs. “And how you might like that too.”

“Maybe we’ll work our way through all you Stark kids by Halloween,” Happy says dryly.

“You love us,” Peter goads him, grinning.

His uncle stares and leaves, chased by the laughter of his wife and nephew.

“No worrying,” May promises. “No business proposals. No daughters of your aunt’s old friends.”

“What do I need those for when I have a captive audience to test out my roadtrip playlist on?”

“WE’RE NOT DOING THAT,” Happy shouts from elsewhere in the apartment.

“YOU’RE GONNA LOVE IT,” Peter calls back.

May yanks him forward into a hug, laughing as she lovingly squeezes the back of his neck.

“It’ll be good to see you again so soon,” she tells Peter, then releases him so they can march down the hall chanting, “road trip, _road trip_ ,” after Happy.

* * *

Peter’s feeling pretty damn good as he prepares to leave the Hogan residence after lunch the next day. The road trip’s a nice thing to look forward to, but the main reason for his residual happiness is how well Vision seems to be doing. They’re so lucky to have access to the magical recuperative properties of time under their aunt’s roof. (Happy’s awesome too, don’t get him wrong.)

He’s with his brother all morning when May calls, offering to drive Peter to Ned’s new place on her lunch break, but he won’t make her come home, drive him over there, and go back to work without eating. Sometimes his aunt needs a little thoughtfulness directed her way too. Besides, Peter doesn’t mind taking the bus, not now that he’s starting to settle back into his old city. _And_ , Ned should be home when he gets there. His best friend’s had the job, like, two weeks now, and he’s already using all these professional terms, like ‘working remotely.’ All it really means is that Ned was at the office (‘the office’―Ned has an office!) this morning and whatever else he’s supposed to do for work today can be accomplished on his laptop and/or phone from the comfort of his couch. Peter figures it’s understood that Ned won’t actually be accomplishing anything today. Not as much as normal, anyway.

Peter switches from train to bus, then transfers buses and transfers again, edging into Lower Manhattan. Ned lives and works in Tribeca, his office just a couple of blocks from his apartment. According to him (and Google), the Thompson Integrated Trust headquarters are located a ways north, in Midtown, but Flash prefers to work out of the Tribeca office he discovered (through an assistant, and a pricey real estate agent) himself. Ned’s told Peter that he suspects Flash likes feeling he’s creating something of his own, rather than just stepping into his father’s way-too-big-to-fill shoes. It startles Peter that Ned’s done any sort of reading of Flash beyond how irritating the guy can be on the surface; seems like they could be a good working team after all.

The address Ned gave Peter is a slim, seven-story redbrick with a tidy façade that’s echoed up and down the block. It’s _nice_ and, Stark though he is, Peter feels out of place walking inside with his bag slung over his shoulder, pushing the hood of his sweatshirt back to take in the lobby that looks like it was just styled for a magazine shoot. Ok, he can see why his dad was a little mad when he passed on Flash’s offer; there’s nothing like the material evidence of wealth to make a point.

Ned― _and_ Flash, who Ned unnecessarily reminded Peter lives here too―are out of the elevator moments later to meet him, the former slamming into Peter with a hug that says they’re still making up for the ones they missed during their brief falling out. That’s fine by Peter, who hugs his best friend back tightly. The trip already feels worth it. Flash goes in for a hug too and Peter’s too surprised to deny him. He gives the guy a light slap on the back while staring at Ned with a _what do I do if he doesn’t let go?_ expression. Fortunately, Flash does let go on his own and it’s quickly evident that his motive is to start showing Peter around. While, of course, he pumps Peter for info about his family. It’s a little overwhelming, though not unexpected.

The deference Flash gave every aspect of the compound the first time he visited isn’t something Peter can match; he kinda keeps circling back through his standard compliments of, “Nice,” “Oh, cool,” and “That’s great, man.” He can’t help it. His vocabulary is under serious strain because Flash gives a very detailed tour of the lobby, elevator, hallway, and his apartment, before the three of them arrive at Ned’s. Their doors are right across the hall from each other―it’s an aspect of the housing logistics Peter’s grateful to have escaped. It’s so easy to imagine Flash listening for him and making sure to pop out of his door the second Ned’s opens every morning. Peter might see if Ned can verify his theory later, once Flash has given them a little room to breathe.

He sticks with them for as long as possible though, as proud of Ned’s apartment as if he’d designed it (from the architecture to the art on the walls) himself. Ned takes Peter’s bag to his guest room and comes back and it’s possible that Flash hasn’t even noticed he was gone because he’s so focused on making Peter appreciate all the nooks and crannies of the kitchen and living room. Peter darts a few glances at his best friend, who occasionally looks bored or embarrassed by how long-winded and enthusiastic his colleague and neighbour is being, but mostly, he seems to be taking it in stride. There must have been a lot of days like this already, Peter guesses.

Flash even drags them up to the roof, which he claims boasts a manicured green space and top-of-the-line patio furniture for communal use by the building’s tenants. To Peter, it feels like Flash is overdoing it a little by acting as though forgetting to take their guest up here straight off was some huge oversight, but once they’re up there, Peter gets it. This is actually… it’s so… Peter isn’t sure if Flash realizes quite how kind and personal a gesture this is. Because they’re in a residential area, there aren’t any skyscraper shadows darkening the space or walling in the view. Peter can see the _sky_. It’s bringing back some of his favourite days of being Spider-Man, before anybody knew his identity, before the gathering storm that proceeded Thanos and made his dad restrict his Spidey outings. His memory’s rolling all the way back to bounding from rooftop to rooftop, or dangling his legs off a fire escape, or flinging himself over the side of a building like this one with a sense of absolute _freedom_. His untouchable days when he was damn near invincible.

Peter puts a hand to his forehead and looks up from the potted plants to the skyline to the blue overhead like he’s checking for planes instead of feeling his eyes well up. Flash, ignorant of the emotion, just adapts his presentation to center on whatever he perceives Peter to be looking at. Ned understands though, and doesn’t draw attention to him with questions or crowding.

“This is _sick_ , Flash, seriously,” Peter says honestly when there’s a long pause that allows him to blink back his tears and comment.

Flash beams, looking pleased and embarrassed and―still a little flattering―starry-eyed over these words coming from one of his idols.

“That’s where Fury works,” he informs Peter, guiding him and pointing to a building a few streets away, visible between two others, “but don’t tell him I told you. I think it’s top-secret.”

 _No shit_ , Peter thinks, but he’s too happy to be sarcastic out loud.

His unofficial tour guide gets a little distracted then, maybe weighing how awesome it would be to film a video for the Flash Mob with Fury’s building in the background against the likelihood that Fury would have him very quietly murdered if he even tried it. Ned and Peter head back down to Ned’s apartment.

It is smaller than the one Flash has across the hall, but it’s fancy as hell and Peter repeats his compliments to his best friend with more ease and sincerity than he managed with Flash constantly at his elbow, seeking approval. Ned looks kind of amazed to find himself there. Doesn’t stop him from posing in a very comfortable-looking, oversized chair (that he’s left a paperback book splayed facedown in) and waving his hands in front of his gleaming kitchen appliances like he’s Vanna White. They both laugh the whole time. Then Ned goes, “Wait, _wait_ ,” with growing excitement and hurtles down the hallway towards the bathroom and bedrooms Peter hasn’t seen yet.

Peter follows Ned into his bedroom and his mouth drops open at the sight of all of his best friend’s nerdiest possessions displayed with museum-like reverence around the room. There are figurines lining delicate glass shelves. There are _Star Wars_ ships _hanging from the ceiling_. They look at each other, agreeing without words that this is the bedroom of their joint childhood dreams.

“ _Freaking awesome_ ,” Ned breathes, admiring his living space. Peter cannot deny the obvious truth of this.

They drag themselves back to the living room to chill and eat snacks.

“Should we be worried that Flash is still up on the roof?” Peter asks around the crunch of a mouthful of chips. Ah, all their old habits. “I haven’t heard him come back to his apartment yet.”

“Nah. He told me he comes up with a lot of ideas up there while he’s starting at Fury’s. I think it’s kind of a religious experience. Doesn’t matter whether Fury’s there or not, since we mostly don’t know anyway.”

“Do you know if he’s there now?” Peter wonders. He’s tensed up a little, nervous from how much Flash has talked Fury up, plus the way his dad’s butted heads with him and the fact that Liz called him ‘scary.’

“I think he’s out of town.” Ned chews for a minute, tilting his head in consideration. He swallows. “Which probably means he’s also out of the country. I don’t know any more than that. _But_ ,” Ned adds, “I’m sure we’ll magically bump into him sometime before you go back Upstate.”

“Oh yeah?” Peter asks wryly. He understands from his best friend’s tone that the meeting wouldn’t be an accident.

“Yeah, Flash told him more than once that you were coming. I wouldn’t have told Flash,” he says apologetically, “but I thought it’d be worse if the two of you just ran into each other.”

“You did the right thing.”

“So, anyway, whenever Fury gets back and snaps his fingers, we’ll be heading over there.”

“Have you met him yet?”

“I actually did,” Ned confides, suddenly eager and scooting forward on his couch cushion. “The man is a _presence_. And he told me he didn’t want to show up in any of my texts, or else I would’ve told you sooner. I don’t completely trust that he can’t overhear my calls either.”

“What?!”

But Ned doesn’t seem bothered. He treats potential surveillance like a compliment and perk of his new job.

They go for a walk, then grab an early dinner that Peter’s thankful for; he’s not used to so much traveling and talking. What he is used to is being able to hide away from his family for long stretches at a time. It’s work to be away from his own space and his regular comforts and Peter’s a tiny bit mentally exhausted. He goes to bed at ten, leaving Ned working at his laptop on the kitchen’s marble-topped island. It makes Peter snort in disbelief, then smile, to see his best friend looking so corporate. Corporate _and_ happy, he has to admit. He’s glad Ned’s proving him wrong about thinking this wouldn’t be right for him.

The guest room smells faintly of fresh paint, but hey, a lingering chemical scent reminds him of his lab at the compound. He falls asleep thinking of home.

Peter’s hanging out in Ned’s office the next day―watching the master work, as Ned calls it, chuckling to disrupt his pretend bumptiousness―when he hears a car door close. They’re on the fourth floor, but he can still differentiate between a regular door-closing and one that says _I mean business_.

“Hey,” he asks back over his shoulder, sticking his head out Ned’s window, “do you…”

He trails off because Ned’s bolting out of the room. Peter figures his best friend would tell him if there was an emergency, so he stays where he is and watches the street. There’s a large black vehicle pulled up to the curb and a dark-haired woman leaning against its passenger door. A minute later, Peter spots Ned exiting the building and walking over to her. He’s seen some ominous shit in his day, and this isn’t exactly that, but it’s clearly not nothing either.

“Who was that?” Peter asks Ned when he re-enters the office five minutes later. He’s unnervingly in the dark because the two of them kept their voices down, meaning he couldn’t eavesdrop. Rude.

“You don’t know?”

“ _Easy_ , Mr. I Know People Now.”

“Hey, it’s about time. Most of our friendship has involved you meeting superheroes and telling me about it later. The Hulk, the Black Widow, Star-Lord―”

“Ok, ok,” Peter cuts him off. “You’re right, it sucks. So, tell me who that was!”

“Maria Hill. She’s Fury’s right-hand woman,” he explains when Peter’s mouth turns down in confusion. “She said Fury’s on his way back from wherever and wants us to come over to his HQ for dinner tomorrow.”

“Come for dinner?”

“…Yeah.”

“Sorry.” Peter laughs. “That just sounds so normal.”

“Hey, I can tell Hill you want Fury to set you up with a mission if you wanna meet him that way,” Ned jokes.

“No, thanks. I’m retired, remember?”

“Don’t mention it. Some of us are still working stiffs.”

“You’ve _barely_ started!”

They laugh. Seconds later, Flash comes stumbling into Ned’s office, losing his shit because he just heard that Hill was there while he was in the bathroom, bossing someone around over the phone. Peter calls that karma, but not out loud.

* * *

Once Flash recovers from the disappointment of missing the invitation, he starts getting hyped up for the dinner itself. His energy oscillates between nervous and ecstatic. Peter watches Ned struggle to stay on task for the rest of the work day as Flash returns to his office multiple times, giving random instructions and peeping out the window, like Maria Hill might come by again and _this_ time, he’ll be the one to spot her. He’s pretty insufferably full of himself, basically preening in front of Peter. This is Flash in his element. This is Flash who could rip Stark Industries away whenever he feels like it, Peter thinks next, suddenly dizzy with panic. What calms him is the reasoning that Flash clearly has other priorities, is ploughing ahead in his business, occupied in his little corner of the TIT sandbox. Maybe SI would catch his eye if he didn’t already have the majority shareholding, but it seems to Peter that the guy is content with the empire he’s inherited. Outside of his superhero-harassment videos (sorry, his job as an unofficial intermediary between the Avengers and their fans), Flash doesn’t appear to be ambitious. More like he just wants to be happy. Still insufferable though.

He repeats to Peter that he knew this would happen, but that he hadn’t been expecting it so soon. It’s like he thinks Fury rearranged his life to move ‘dinner with Flash’ forward in his schedule. What Flash never mentions is that Fury’s available because he just arrived back from somewhere; Peter gets the sense that Ned really wasn’t supposed to blab that Fury’d been away, or communicate any of what Hill told him. He doesn’t rat on his best friend.

“Everything’s lining up!” Flash says excitedly.

He calls his assistant into Ned’s office just to tell her to clear his schedule for the next night. The woman is very professional, in Peter’s opinion, because she nods though he’s pretty damn sure Flash wouldn’t have had any work planned for six in the evening on a Wednesday. Unless he’s cancelling a business dinner with the Black Widow. (This is a joke and when Peter thinks of it, he has to contain his smile. Flash would never have the nerve to cancel on the Black Widow. No one in their right mind would do that.)

“Of course, I knew Fury would want to meet at some point,” Flash goes on, trying to be a little smoother now, “but he doesn’t usually… I mean, I never know when he’ll be available. He’s a very difficult man to make plans with.” He clears his throat. “Naturally, we were given precedence. Flash Thompson is a VIP, baby.”

Peter offers a weak, “Sure, man,” in response.

Without loudly insulting Fury, it seems like Flash won’t notice whatever Peter says. Good. Less stress that way, trying to match Flash’s level of anticipation―a level that doesn’t waver for the next 30 hours or so. Possibly while he sleeps, but Peter can’t confirm that. Maybe Flash _can’t_ sleep that night, because he’s pretty wired the next day and even more of a hurricane at their office. Peter’s astounded as Ned works through it. When Flash comes flying into his office, freaking out at the thought that Fury might change his mind, Ned just chuckles, barely looking up from his computer.

There’s a very, very short moment where Peter watches them and feels like Ned is Flash’s guy in the chair now, calmly holding down the fort. But then Ned catches his eye and makes a funny face behind his boss’s back. Looks like Peter Parker still comes in first for his best friend’s loyalty.

Back at their apartment building after work, Flash keeps striding into Ned’s place and giving them meaningless coaching on how to behave and what to expect. Peter asks Ned why he doesn’t just lock the door. Ned shrugs and says he doesn’t mind. Peter tries not to mind either, until they’re almost ready to go, congregating in Ned’s kitchen, and Flash gives his outfit an assessing scan.

“Ok, well, don’t worry about what you’re wearing.”

“Why would I be worried?” Peter wonders, looking down at his khakis and button-up shirt.

Yeah, he isn’t wearing an expensive suit like the other two (Peter’s been telling Ned how awesome he looks, snapping photos for his best friend’s Instagram), but nobody told him to stuff formalwear into the bag he packed. He’s relieved that Flash doesn’t offer something of his own.

“Well, you were a superhero, right?” Flash asks needlessly. It’s really fucking annoying. “Fury will probably be expecting you to look a little more slick and a little less like you’re in training to be a suburban dad.”

 _Ok_ , Peter thinks, _this is where I fight him_ , but Flash is already looking at his phone, thoughts of Peter likely catalogued and forgotten. He starts typing what Peter assumes will be a post for one of his platforms; he won’t waste an opportunity to brag about dinner with Fury. Peter wonders how many of his own selfies he’s taken in between barging into Ned’s apartment. He tries to prevent it, but that thought makes Peter sad for Flash and he offers to take a few pictures of the new business partners standing together.

He regrets it when Flash becomes a very demanding model, holding them up for nearly half an hour.

After several attempts to urge Flash to hurry up, Ned’s words get through to Flash and he panics, complaining that Peter’s making them late. Peter feels like he rolls his eyes all the way down the hall, in the elevator, and out to the curb, where Flash decides he wants to call a car to take them over to Fury’s. Even Ned’s patience has been worn thin and he practically snatches the phone out of Flash’s hand, reminding them that it would take almost the same time to drive as to walk―their original plan. So, they head off on foot. Flash would clearly like to speed away ahead of them, but he’s wearing very expensive-looking shoes and, in Peter’s experience, those things can pinch like hell.

It's a nice walk. Though it’s early February and the sun’s down by 5:30, there’s an orange glow that lingers, bouncing off windows and storefronts to blend with the streetlamps in the cold air. Peter’s quietly happy, feet almost skipping along the sidewalk, chin tucked down into a wool scarf.

He completely forgets to worry, to let the heat of the sun against the back of his coat create the cold sweat of apprehension down his spine, until they turn a final corner and Flash―breathless from the exercise, the cold, or his own feelings of intimidation―says, “Just up here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, Peter's meeting Fury-as-Lady-Catherine next chapter! But he's also _re_ meeting someone else...
> 
> (It's Michelle.)


	15. Chez Fury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Her ladyship received them civilly, but it was plain that their company was by no means so acceptable as when she could get nobody else; and she was, in fact, almost engrossed by her nephews, speaking to them, especially to Darcy, much more than to any other person in the room." - _Pride and Prejudice_ , ch. 31

Fury’s building looks normal, but Peter quickly discovers it’s a fortress. The front door isn’t the real entrance, there’s a claustrophobic sense of being thoroughly surveilled (though he can’t spot a single camera), and each of them has to do a retinal scan before they’re allowed inside. The first floor of the interior includes a sinisterly long and narrow hallway with low lighting and no obvious doors except the one at the end, which turns out to be an elevator. When the doors part, he finds the upstairs is almost as minimalist, but with glass and an open floor plan, so it feels less like an abandoned lab during a zombie outbreak. There’s nowhere to hide, which is probably exactly how Fury likes it. Flash is pointing out the fireproofed couches, the bulletproof glass of the windows, and speculating on the cost that Fury’s likely never disclosed to him, but Peter’s too tense to do more than nod.

A guard―who’s probably armed―gives each of them a long look that feels like they’re being frisked by his eyes―they probably are, somehow―then they’re allowed to proceed into the extremely un-homey-feeling living room. Fury rises dramatically and shakes each of their hands. Ned jumps in to introduce Peter before Flash can get in there with any embarrassing grovelling. Maria Hill’s there too, clasping her hands together after they’ve all shaken and sat down. She’s the closest Peter has to a familiar face, other than the two guys he came with.

Peter, Ned, and Flash are together on a long black couch, across from their hosts, in twin black chairs. While Flash finds a moment to begin rambling small talk that nobody invited, Peter glances furtively at Fury. He isn’t sure what’s more intimidating: the eye patch/leather coat combo, or the scowl he wears with it. Definitely exudes an air of not wanting to be fucked with. Sorta gives Peter fresh respect for his dad, ignoring this man, going behind his back, confronting him. _Yikes_. When the man responds to Flash, there’s zero hesitation or self-doubt in his voice. He sounds like he’s used to speaking for others. It’s the voice of a leader. Scary though, like Liz said.

Hill says far less, but she seems to so comfortably have a read of the room that it makes Peter feel like he’s missing some extra sense. She looks equally settled in for the evening and ready to spring up, crash through the window, and rappel down the side of the building. Should need arise. Peter hopes it doesn’t.

Inconsequential conversation is strung out until they move to the dining table. There’s no reason to assume, from the food he’s looking at, that either Fury or Hill took any part in its preparation; neither of them could’ve had the time. Peter has the distinct feeling that every single one of them would’ve rather eaten on the couch, but for some reason, they’re keeping up this weird formality. Is it on his account? Is it for Ned, Flash’s still-relatively-new hire? Is it for _Flash_ , and Fury’s secretly trying to impress him so he sounds cool on the internet? Peter almost laughs about that theory, looking quickly away from where Flash is sitting at Fury’s left hand. What doesn’t measure up is how much Flash has to say about every dish on the table, since he’s barely quiet long enough to take a bite of anything. Fury’s soaking up the praise though, Peter thinks. Well… Hmm. Shit, it’s really hard to tell.

Their return to the living room is a relief. And then it’s not at all, because Fury starts into a monologue about heroes and the work that’s yet to be done. Meanwhile, Peter’s palms are starting to fucking sweat, not just because they’ve clicked on the electric fireplace. Jeeze, this guy is intense. Fury focuses in on Ned and Peter wants to shield him, though the words aren’t unkind. He’s asking if Ned finds his new work fulfilling, what his hopes are for assisting Flash in opening up the world’s perception of superheroes ( _shit_ , Peter thinks, he’s making what Flash does sound _noble_ ), is curious about his insights on what could be improved given his―a pointed glance at Peter―particular social circle.

Peter knows that Ned isn’t the type of person to crave attention just for the sake of it, but he seems genuinely pleased to be asked his opinion, for his views to be recognized as valuable and singular. It kinda makes Peter wonder if they were underappreciating his best friend Upstate. Maybe there was some way that Ned could’ve helped SI that they never tapped into. He listens with rapt concentration as his friend gives intelligent answers to unusual questions. Fury clearly knows how to tailor his instructions and interview techniques to his audience.

Gradually, Fury shifts from asking Ned about his life among superheroes to interrogating one of those superheroes directly (Peter). He has questions about Tony and Pepper, how things have been with the Starks’ ‘family business’ (Fury’s ironic words), and any future plans any of them might have. Peter does his best to ramble and be vague. Actually, that’s just Peter. But he is a little wary, for two reasons. One: there’s something not right about discussing his family’s business plans in front of Flash. Two: Fury might not mean _business_ plans at all. Peter doesn’t want to be the one to initiate a discussion about the enhanced members of his family going back to work in the arena of Fighting Crime and Saving People. Honestly, he doesn’t think it’s any of Fury’s goddamn business, but that isn’t one of the things he stutters out under the imposing man’s single, seemingly-unblinking eye.

“I understand that control of your father’s empire now rests in the hands of this man,” Fury states, leveling a finger at Flash without looking away from Peter’s nervous face. “Some… bad miscalculations with the shares.” He steeples his fingers.

Peter clenches his jaw briefly.

“Actually, there was some deliberate deception by the shareholders in there too,” he corrects. He can’t sneak a glance towards Flash; it would be too accusatory.

Fury obviously feels no compunction about being blunt and stares at Flash.

“Good for you two, anyway,” he says, indicating Ned as well with a sharp nod, “though I’m sure Tony feels taken down a peg. I’m not gloating.” He says this fast, to Peter, who stiffens. “I genuinely believe he has a lot of good still to offer this world and I hope he’s able to keep hold of sufficient resources to accomplish whatever his plans are these days.”

“He’ll make them happen,” Peter says loyally.

“What about _your_ plans, Peter?”

The sun’s completely down and the glow from the fireplace hits the side of Fury’s face like they’re sitting around telling ghost stories in the woods. Oh well. Ghosts, kids who get bitten by spiders and can suddenly walk on the ceiling―none of that’s supposed to be real.

“M-my plans?”

“As far as I’m aware,” Fury says, pretending ignorance when Peter knows this guy probably has eyes everywhere, “you hung up your Spider-suit after Thanos. Your dad retired from this life, Vision did too. I heard you folks even adopted a new family member. I’ve never met her, but I don’t think she’s exactly from around here. Anybody I’m missing?”

“What do you mean?”

“Anybody else in your family… special?”

The question makes Peter defensive, wanting to close ranks with a family that isn’t present.

“Morgan’s reading level is really advanced for her age,” he says, a spark of combativeness flaring as he keeps his eyes locked on Fury’s.

Shockingly, Fury almost smiles.

“I might have a job for you sometime. Not in the suit,” he clarifies. “Tony’s said enough about you in all the times he’s told me to stay the fuck away from you that I know you’re a lot like him. You’ve got his mind. His head for working through problems, finding solutions nobody’s thought of before.” Fury watches him carefully before continuing. “You Starks are out of the game, but I’ve still got people out there. Maybe while you’re in town, you could take a look at some schematics. Weapon design, body armour.”

“Mr. Fury, I―”

“Just Fury.”

“I’m a scientist,” Peter says, spreading pleading hands. “ _Weapons_? I mean―”

“You didn’t fight Thanos’s army with a lab coat. Think it over. And yes, I _can_ see you trying to come up with another way to say no.”

“Ok, you don’t know what I’ve seen,” Peter snaps, digging an index finger into his thigh to reinforce his point. “I used to go out in this city every day, every night, and there was never a time when someone didn’t need me. There was always some asshole stealing a bike, or breaking a window, or selling drugs to kids. You wanna talk about Thanos? About his army? About… about death, as far as you can see? Yeah, I fought them. Did you?”

There’s a long pause where Peter can feel everyone looking at him. He’s moved to the edge of his seat, legs tense and feet pushing hard against the floor. He didn’t want to discuss this, not any of it. Surely Fury can see what remembering these things is costing him. Peter can’t even _talk_ about this stuff.

“I’ve been in the hero game longer than you have,” the man says slowly. “In the spy game even longer than that.”

They lock eyes and hold them until Hill cuts in with, “Ok, Fury, I think that’s―” But he raises a finger to cut her off.

“You know if you were anyone else, I would’ve broken that,” she mutters.

“Yeah, I know,” Fury assures her, still lasered in on Peter. “I take risks. You’ve got to, in this line of work.”

There’s no way to have a normal evening after that, not that Peter has any clue what a normal evening sitting around the fire with Fury looks like. They leave the way they came in―with Flash doing most of the talking. Only this time, Peter feels like he’s carrying something out with him. Something heavy that shifts on his shoulders. A burden of responsibility that he’s been doing a pretty good, if unhealthy, job of hiding from, until Fury picked it up and tried to hang from him again, like it’s something Peter can just go back to. Like it’s some kind of cape.

* * *

After a couple of days of no Fury and Peter always around, Flash gets comfortable enough with his guest to start leveraging his value for more hits, likes, and retweets. The Flash Mob goes nuts for the Spider-Man content. At least, that’s what Flash tells Peter, who has no interest in looking himself up. He’s a huge novelty; Flash hasn’t had any new footage of him since the old days of swinging around NYC. When Flash requests a follow-up interview with Peter on Friday afternoon―something he wants to pre-film to post on Wednesday for Valentine’s Day―after the quick sit-down they did that morning, Peter’s on board. Until Flash runs his question list by him and Peter sees ‘boxers or briefs?’ Yeah, never mind. He’s out.

Peter’s been _getting out_ more too. Yesterday and today, he’s volunteered to grab lunch for Flash’s office, taking his time walking around the neighbourhood and swiping the order through on a corporate card. It’s… strange to be taking to the streets alone, but Peter pushes his conversation with Fury to the back of his mind. He didn’t come here for that. He needs to take care of himself first and not feel guilty about it. The green rooftop of Ned and Flash’s apartment building has been great for that too. When things get busy in the office and Peter starts to feel like he’s just in the way, he goes to that roof to regroup. There’s never anybody else up there. Funny. A million things to see and do in this city and Peter’s happiest sitting alone, surrounded by trees, looking at the sky. It’s kinda the perfect combination of being at home Upstate and trying to have a larger life again.

Ned’s been cutting back his hours at the office during Peter’s visit. He takes calls and checks scheduling on his phone and home laptop, but a lot of what they do in the afternoons and evenings is watch movies and eat junk food. It’s awesome. Flash tries to insinuate himself almost constantly, updating them on the smallest detail about Maria Hill’s movements, an Avenger spotting, or how his latest video’s performing. When Peter asks him about Fury (Flash’s favourite topic) to be polite, Flash gets a hell of a lot squirrelier. Alright, maybe Peter _doesn’t_ want to know what Fury’s up to.

It's around three on Friday afternoon when Peter’s heading down from the roof and Flash texts him to meet him and Ned in the hallway between their apartments. Peter’s only standing there a couple of minutes before the two guys he was expecting _plus Fury_ come strolling down the hall. Ned looks uneasy and apologetic; Peter can tell he didn’t realize this was going to happen.

They all head into Flash’s apartment together and even that’s awkward―Flash deferentially trying to let Fury go first and Fury in turn signalling for Peter to enter ahead of him. It makes him nervous as hell to have Fury at his back. He doesn’t hound Peter like he did the other night though. There’s no pressuring or mention of the old suit or new responsibilities. It seems like some kind of status update, Fury giving Flash a few fairly inconsequential tipoffs that he can make public. Possibly, what he’s doing is reminding Peter that he’s around, ready and waiting should he change his mind. Peter hopes Fury isn’t holding his breath. Anyway, it’s not a social call, more of a short meeting. Too short, apparently, to mention that his kinda-sorta niece is coming to visit.

No, _that_ Peter hears about the next morning. Flash finds out and tells Peter, then turns right around and tells Fury that Peter already knows Michelle, and apparently, that doesn’t go over well at _all_. Peter isn’t sure why that would be. Is Fury being a sexist, overprotective asshole, thinking that he’s gatekeeping his niece’s possible friendships? Did Flash say that Peter and Michelle hate each other and Fury’s mad about that instead? The truth is closer to the second one, so Peter feels like he doesn’t have a leg to stand on if Fury confronts him about it, especially if Michelle’s there. There’s no way in hell she’d pretend they were pals to help him out.

Flash is glued to his phone, pacing Ned’s living room, until the invitation to head over to Fury’s building arrives. The pastries Peter went out and bought for him and Ned to have as a brunch feast are commandeered and the friends follow Flash out the door―one almost as cheerful as ever, the other full of dread, and both hungry.

It hits Peter, when he sees her, that he hasn’t been in Michelle’s company since the Park’s open house. They spoke with more than words then; meeting her eyes now brings it all back, including what it felt like to hold her. Jesus. Peter’s heart is pounding―obviously in alarm.

Quickly, he slides his gaze from her to her aunt, Carol Danvers, who’s also come for a visit, traveling slightly farther. Though she and Peter don’t know each other well, there’s a certain camaraderie that comes with having fought Thanos together. Plus, she saved the lives of Nebula and his dad after they were stranded in space. Peter’s predisposed to get along with her. Carol (he struggles not to call her Captain Marvel at first) sets him at ease the way Michelle never has. She smiles and chats and answers his questions about what’s been going on in space with enthusiasm. Tells Peter he reminds her of her daughter when Monica was his age, curious and unstoppable. He’s not so sure about that second one, can’t bring himself to divulge the way he’s struggled just to be able to come back to NYC, but it feels good to be thought well of by her. When Carol props her elbow on Peter’s shoulder, leaning around him to laugh loudly and add embarrassing details to some story Fury’s reluctantly telling Flash, it’s almost like… he’s part of the team again.

Carol shows her affection physically with Michelle too, slipping an arm around her waist and drawing her in until their hips bump. Peter can’t watch Michelle― _see_ her, not watch her―very well from the other side of her aunt, but besides the looseness of her allowing the embrace, she seems basically the same as she was when he knew her Upstate. She isn’t any friendlier, though she isn’t rude either. (Actually, Peter can’t remember the last time she was outright rude.) Without anyone else bringing it up, Michelle goes out of her way to congratulate Ned on his new job and ask him how he’s liking the neighbourhood. Her conversation with his friend seems like the best opportunity Peter might get to talk to her. Why would he though? Where’s this impulse coming from? He mentally shakes himself and tunes back into the story Carol’s now completely taken over from Fury; he tells himself he barely notices when Michelle, after running out of questions for Ned, decides to escape her aunt’s hold and move to stand across from him.

Their eyes meet again and again before Peter gives up the façade of being an active listener in Carol and Fury’s conversation and also steps out of her aunt’s reach. The other five―Carol, Fury, Maria Hill, Ned, and Flash―unconsciously adjust their circle, leaving Peter and Michelle alone outside of it. There’s something tough, something scrambling within him as he holds her gaze.

“How is everybody at the compound?” Michelle asks. Her voice is kinder than he remembers it. This is _so_ confusing.

“Good,” he says, then again, “good. Things don’t really change much at home.” Peter scrapes his fingers through his hair; her eyes go to his arm, covered by the sleeve of his navy sweatshirt. He clears his throat. “Vision’s in the city, actually. Has been for about two weeks. I guess you haven’t bumped into him?”

Peter already knows the answer is no. Vision would’ve told him. He’s trying to get out from under this feeling though, this thing he can’t identify (at least, not while Michelle’s looking at him like that, or at all), and he doesn’t want her to notice. He’s also curious to see how she reacts. Maybe she’ll look guilty on behalf of that dickhead, Brad, for giving Vision the runaround where it concerns Wanda.

Michelle frowns at the question and says, “No, I haven’t.”

Well. He can’t call her a liar because he doesn’t know if she’s aware of the extent of Brad’s assholery―it’d also be a pretty fucking dangerous thing to do, with Fury and Carol here to defend her from his accusations, possibly with force. In fact, Peter isn’t sure what else to say to her. She doesn’t genuinely give a shit about him or his family and he could care less what she’s been up to. What else is there to do? Reminisce about all the fun times they’ve had? Fumblingly rehash the dance they shared to see how uncomfortable he can make them both? No. Michelle walks away and Peter turns back to Carol.

* * *

The thing that morning was kind of an ultra-casual brunch, with everybody standing around until Fury said he had work to do (while Carol teased him) and Peter, Ned, and Flash went back to their apartment building. The three of them seem to decide that Carol’s the easiest one to discuss; Flash gets too worked up about Fury, Hill’s too private, and nobody says a word about Michelle. It’s the one time in Peter’s acquaintance with Flash that he’s seen him take the temperature of the room and not open his mouth.

Once they wring all they can out of the morning’s gathering, Flash calls a car to take him to the location of his new walking-around vlog. Peter wonders if the location choice is based on the presence of one of the Avengers because Flash is awfully shifty before he leaves. He shrugs it off. Anything that Flash does that isn’t directly his problem is a relief after all of the bullshit Peter went through because of the guy.

He and Ned make their own plans. They hit the American Museum of Natural History for a few blissful hours of drooling over meteorites and, for Peter, working up the nerve to wander into the exhibit they’ve been constructing about humanity between the two Snaps. He wasn’t alive for most of the years and historic events catalogued by this museum, but this is different. It’s _recent_ history―a five-year chunk of it, cut from of the middle of his life. Easy and tidy as punching a hole in a doughnut. He knows the museum was in contact with Pepper during the exhibit’s conception, hoping for a firsthand account from Tony. He’s still not really there yet, but he gave Pepper some materials to send along, a rough sketch of the timeline between disruption and repair. From what Peter’s seeing as he wanders around the room, slightly dizzy, his dad’s contributions skim the tragedy of the in-between years. Then again, that’s the kind of information they would’ve been able to get from anyone who lived through them. The small mercy of structure, digital displays that note the activities of the surviving Avengers during that time (Natasha keeping the initiative afloat, spreading their thin resources around the globe; Steve hunkering down to work on a community level, leading group therapy sessions; Peter’s dad delving deep into science, mathematics, and engineering to design the machine that changed everything for a second time) prevents this from being an ode to loneliness.

When they step out into the world again, Ned takes one look at Peter’s numb expression in the light and nudges him towards the nearest pizza place. Steam rises from their hot slices as they walk and eat. The February sunshine is closer to white than gold, but it’s sunshine all the same, so they amble aimlessly through Central Park until their faces are red and Peter’s shaken the feeling that his body’s flaking apart. Ned’s unrestrained laugh, the lingering taste of gooey cheese, the sight of moms and nannies pushing post-Second Snap toddlers past in strollers―these things bring Peter back.

On Sunday, they’re invited to Fury’s again. This time, Peter doesn’t have to wait to hear about it from Flash; he and Carol exchanged numbers (though he isn’t sure how that works―does she have a temporary phone while she’s on Earth? Does she always have a phone, but with, like, _incredible_ long-distance quality?) and she texts him to make sure he’s coming. The first time around, Peter was his dad’s protégé as he got a handle on his gifts and learned how to use them to help people. It’s kind of a precarious thought that he could ever be that again, who he was before, but if he ever managed it, he thinks Carol would be a great mentor. Peter’s a huge admirer of the way she seems to lack self-doubt. He wants that too.

Flash, Ned, and Peter traverse the security protocol once again and exit Fury’s elevator, where Carol greets them and announces that the occasion is Fury getting sick of her already. Peter’s eyes dart to Michelle at the sound of her laugh, a soft snort. He looks away fast when she glances over at him.

Immediately, Peter gets the sense that this evening was more Carol’s idea than Fury’s. The man talks to Carol and Michelle while Hill looks on, and mostly ignores his other guests. Peter can’t really blame him. He knows what it’s like to see (and hear) too much of Flash Thompson. How Flash never gets tired of Fury’s intimidating indifference, on the other hand, is a mystery.

While Michelle follows her kinda-uncle’s lead with short, straightforward questions and answers, Carol continually attempts to merge their reclusive group with the poor suckers who’ve been invited over for this (as Peter sees it). She smiles genuinely, speaks energetically, and Peter has to assume that socializing with humans must be a nice break from dealing with off-world wars, political upheavals, and cultural diasporas when groups like the Skrulls have to flee for their lives. Even this tense evening must feel more like one of his weekday hangouts with Ned, gaming in his basement and eating too many Doritos.

Flash persists in paying an obscene amount of attention to Fury and they leave him to it. Carol catches Peter and Ned up on news of the galaxy, which they _love_. He has little to contribute on the topic of experiences of space and remembering it isn’t the best feeling he’s ever had. She seems to understand that and brings things closer to home. It’s obvious that she’s skeptical over her home-planet stories being as entertaining to the pair of nerds she’s talking to, so Peter rushes to reassure her. He hasn’t been a ton of places, and never to California―where Carol learned to fly―or Louisiana―where she’s spent a lot of time with her wife, Maria. Besides, she’s great at telling stories. It doesn’t take long before she’s cry-laughing her way through a tale of drunken karaoke, Peter and Ned laughing right along with her, finally distracting enough that Fury caves and gets sucked into the conversation. Peter’s wiping his streaming eyes with the cuff of his shirt as his gaze crosses Michelle’s. He doesn’t let his smile drop the way he normally would.

“You’re telling it all wrong,” Fury criticizes.

“Oh yeah?” she laughs. “You say that like you were there.”

They engage in a wordless battle, eyes locked. Peter interprets Carol’s stare as meaning Fury _was_ there that night, but she doesn’t think he’ll admit it.

“I could’ve been,” he hedges.

“Either you were or you weren’t.”

She leans forward, challengingly, elbows on her knees. Finally, Fury breaks.

“Fine! It wasn’t April, it was the middle of July and all the flags were still up. You sang _the_ worst rendition of ‘Walk This Way’ I’ve _ever_ heard.”

“Hey! My performance was better than yours!” Carol fires back. “Who does a ballad on classic rock night?”

“‘It’s All Coming Back to Me Now’ _is_ a classic.”

“That song is six minutes long!”

“And when I sing it, it’s a damn _pleasure_ to listen to! Hill should’ve come that night,” he says, pointing at her. “She’d back me up.”

“I would’ve blown you both out of the water,” Maria assures them with a smug smile.

Carol’s holding her stomach as she folds forward, shoulders shaking with laughter. Even Fury releases a startlingly easy chuckle.

She’s gasping as she says, “I should’ve blasted the mic right out of your hand.”

“Oh, and my arm along with it,” he agrees sarcastically.

“I have better control than that.”

“Maybe when you’re sober!”

“I’m sober _now_ ,” Carol says with an innocent grin. She sits up and lifts her hand, slowly tucking her fingers into a tight fist. She examines it idly as it starts to glow. “You wanna test it?”

“Fuck _no_. What does your daughter think about you waving that thing around at home?”

“She drags me into the yard and tries to make me super-charge the engine of the plane she’s fixing up.”

“Same plane Maria used to work on?”

Carol shakes her head, smiling.

“New plane, same yard.”

“And Monica’s hoping to pilot an aircraft that you’ve done your freaky photon shit to?”

“Higher, further, faster, baby,” she shoots back, eyes glittering.

Fury shakes his head like she’s out of her mind. Peter gets it now, how Liz said these two were like brother and sister. They make him miss his own siblings, but he’ll be home soon enough. Just last night, Ned talked him into hanging around a few more days instead of catching the bus that afternoon. It was surprisingly easy to agree.

“I hope she’s being safe,” he finally says.

“She’s a grown woman,” Carol points out.

“So? She’s still my niece.”

She smiles back fondly.

“Monica’s as safe as she can be when she’s pushing the limits. Doesn’t fly as much anymore, but you know that. I _know_ you still use your security clearance to keep tabs, don’t deny it.”

Fury shrugs.

“Wasn’t going to. At least she’s not flying way the hell out into space every other minute. There’s enough to be done here.”

“If we had a fleet…”

“The Avengers don’t need a fleet of spaceships! Are you trying to blow all of our resources?” Carol laughs, but Peter jolts when Fury’s suddenly pointing at him. “ _He’s_ the one you want to ask. The Starks. That’s where the money is. Fair amount of brains too.”

Peter glances nervously between them. He was really hoping Fury had dropped his attempts to recruit him.

“I… I’m not really…”

“I’ve told him we could use him,” Fury informs Carol, cutting Peter off. “He’s got the mind and the experience.”

He’s feeling a few things. There’s embarrassment at the way Fury’s making this sound―like Peter’s choice to turn him down was inconsequential, or selfish. Anger too. He doesn’t want to be ‘money’ or ‘brains.’ He’s a person, not a resource. Peter doesn’t know what his face is showing when his averted gaze finds MJ’s warm brown stare. He expects judgement; she looks annoyed, and not at him, but at Fury’s manipulative tactics. She doesn’t stand up for him though. Why should she?

Carol obviously understands Fury better than Peter does because she doesn’t try to stop his bullying head-on. Instead, she makes a kind of compromise, leading Peter over to a conference table in this home/headquarters of Fury’s to show him some schematics. He’s trusting her not to push him. He thinks she knows that. One glance back at Fury shows that he looks satisfied by Peter’s willingness to peruse the diagrams. Satisfied _for now_.

She’s showing Peter the design for a suit capable of breaching the atmosphere and withstanding prolonged exposure to the vacuum of space. Carol remembered the nanotech suit he wore when they fought Thanos and, after he informed her he’d had it on while clinging to the side of an alien spacecraft launched from Earth, she decided he has a good working knowledge from a user’s perspective. She wants him to identify any potential weak points in the design. That’s what they’re doing when Michelle saunters over, leaving her uncle to shift his focus to Hill as his allies in the living room dwindle.

Michelle walks behind them slowly, then around the table. Peter tries to keep his eyes on the schematics. His focus is slipping, being able to see her through the holographic display. He shakes his head and zooms in on the control panel of the suit’s wrists. Carol starts to point something out, but he can’t concentrate on the specifics.

“Are you trying to distract me?” he blurts out at Michelle, catching her eye through the blue glow. His tone’s almost teasing. She makes him feel so untethered. “It won’t work.” Peter shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “I told Carol I’d take a look and I’m going to, even if this did start out as a trick.”

“Why would I want to distract you?” she asks. “Or is this just you trying to start an argument for the hell of it? He does that sometimes,” she warns her aunt with a sly smile.

“You don’t know me,” Peter mutters.

“Sure I do.”

He rolls his eyes and glances sideways at Carol.

“Your niece probably has plenty to say about me, and none of it’ll make me look good.”

“She already knows you,” Michelle says, drawing his attention as she gestures towards her aunt.

“Only at my most heroic. As Spider-Man. You know me as regular Peter from, you know, daily life. Which you could maybe not talk about if you’re just gonna criticize me.” She looks impassive. It makes Peter nervous as hell, so he adds, “Or I might have to do the same to you.”

“You don’t scare me, Regular Peter.”

She meanders around the side of the table and leans her hip into it, crossing her arms.

“Well, this is getting interesting,” Carol declares. She wheels a chair over and plants her elbows on the table, cupping her chin in her hand and looking at Peter. “Tell me what MJ did to make you say that. Come on, snitch,” she urges with a grin when he hesitates.

“I don’t know, it’s pretty bad,” Peter jokes, smiling despite himself. He’d swear he’s continuing to speak to Carol, but somehow, he’s looking right at Michelle. “We met at the compound. Stark Industries was hosting a benefit for people who Reappeared to find themselves displaced because their homes had been taken over between the Snaps.”

“Yeah, I think I’ve been invited to a couple of those. I’m never around.”

It’s close enough to an apology that he shrugs to absolve her.

“I don’t think anyone knew what to think of her,” Peter goes on, still holding Michelle’s gaze.

If it was her best friend he was talking to right now, he’d wonder if the words were being compelled out of him through some kind of mind trick. It’s a hazy feeling to finally discuss that first night―and he’s only now realizing that he’s always thought of it as the ‘first night,’ though nothing else started then, nothing happened. Just him seeing her when she walked in.

“It’s always a big networking opportunity, men in suits, that kind of thing. All cleaned up with Daddy’s money.” Michelle flinches a little when he quotes the words she spoke that night, that she didn’t mean for him to hear, but their gazes are so locked now, Peter thinks, they might never be able to break the connection. “Everybody’s whispering when they figure out who she is, and she won’t even acknowledge them. You know how much money and power was in that room? Hard to guess a number.”

Carol was giggling along at first as Peter set the scene, but she’s quiet now and he barely notices.

“There was even dancing,” he says, straight to Michelle’s face. She feels much closer than where she’s actually standing around the corner of the table from him. “A waltz.”

“She didn’t dance, I’m assuming,” Carol finally prompts.

“She did,” Peter corrects. “Just once. With her friend’s brother.”

“I didn’t know anyone else,” Michelle says. “I’m not great at… making the first move.”

“Maybe somebody should’ve had the balls to not be intimidated by a successful young woman and asked you,” Carol suggests, smiling at her niece.

“ _I_ asked her,” Peter says quickly.

Michelle stares and stares while he feels more than sees Carol swivel away from them, enlarging another section of the holograph and tactfully giving it all of her attention.

“I didn’t know you either,” she counters.

“You could’ve gotten to know me.”

“Peter.” Her voice is low, confidential. The neutral expression he never sees her without is gone. “It… it _terrifies_ me.”

He suppresses a shudder.

“You see this?” he asks eventually. His heart’s pounding as he waves her around to his side of the table so she can stand next to him and view the schematic. His eyes are still on her profile as she studies the lines and labels. “This takes me all the way back to designing my first suit. Well, the first one I made with my dad’s help. The _first_ first one was a cotton sweatsuit.” Peter huffs a laugh, then swallows it back down. “I don’t have to do this and, honestly, I’d rather not relive everything it reminds me of. On some level though, maybe it helps. Putting the difficult stuff aside… you don’t move forward.”

MJ turns slowly and smiles at him even slower than that, over the course of several heartbeats.

“Smart. For the record, I would’ve never known you were scared.”

Fury’s suddenly behind them with a sweep of the long jacket Peter’s never not seen him wear indoors. Instinctively, he steps away from Michelle. She gives him a look he’s hopeless to understand.

“How are you doing with this?” Fury demands.

“It’s coming back to me,” Peter admits. He’s reluctant though. Fury’s pushy and he doesn’t like or trust it.

“This kid could be a real asset,” he tells his niece. “Tactical, like Hill over there. You just look at his face and you know he has the end goal in mind, he can already see where we need to go with this suit, what it’s got to do, and he just has to take us from here to there.”

Fury hovers and, with Carol as a buffer, Peter keeps working. He belatedly realizes how intensely private the conversation felt. He and Michelle don’t speak again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've received several kind comments about how great Tony is as Mrs. Bennet, but I have _loved_ writing Carol as Colonel Fitzwilliam! Totally hadn't even planned to include her in this story, then I got to the Rosings Park section of the novel and realized Carol would be perfect here.
> 
> More Carol in the next chapter! Plus, Peter just can't seem to stop running into Michelle...


	16. Chance Meetings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "More than once did Elizabeth in her ramble within the park, unexpectedly meet Mr Darcy." - _Pride and Prejudice_ , ch. 33

It’s Monday, midmorning, and Peter’s hiding out at Ned’s. Flash seems to have decided that Peter extended his stay solely to be useful as clickbait. Peter gave him an inch last week with that first video and now Flash wants a mile, his pound of Spidey flesh. If Flash tries to coax one more guest Tweet out of him, Peter’s pretty sure he’ll be incited to violence. And nobody needs that kind of coverage during such a delicate comeback. Not that he’s trying to make a comeback, but working under Fury last night has mixed things up in his head. He feels like an artifact, buried shallower than he thought, feeling the layers of protective dirt―soil and clay and sand―being brushed and scraped away above him. Soon he’s going to be exposed. He doesn’t know what happens after that.

Which is why he’s hiding. It’s a pretty sweet hiding spot. TV, four flavours of ice cream in Ned’s freezer, a slow flood of _Star Wars_ collectibles taking over the sleek décor. There are worse places to hole up. He left Ned at the office and, with the apartment temporarily to himself, indulges in a longer shower than he's been taking in the mornings, trying not to mess up his best friend’s routine as he gets ready for work. There’s a knock at the door when Peter’s half-dressed, so he rubs his towel briskly through his hair and drops it on the floor of the guest room. Ned would hate that, but this is probably him, come to check on Peter because he’s a softie who cares too much. Peter’ll go pick up the damp towel in a minute. He hurries to the door, thrusting his arms into the sleeves of his t-shirt right before he reaches to unlock and throw it wide.

It's not Ned. It’s Michelle. Her mouth opens and nothing comes out. Were her eyes ever on his face? He isn’t sure, but right now, they’re on his bare torso. Flustered, Peter yanks his head through the neck hole of his t-shirt and pushes his wet hair out of his eyes with an uncomfortable laugh.

“Uh, hi,” he offers.

“Hey, Peter.” Michelle’s face has a high flush.

It occurs to him that she wouldn’t have come alone and he glances past her, expecting Fury, expecting Carol, but there doesn’t seem to be anybody else in the hallway.

“I was talking to Ned at Fury’s the other day and I thought I’d…”

“He’s at work.”

“Right,” she says. Peter doesn’t get why this would surprise her, though it seems to. She looks adrift and he feels the urge to help her. _Weird_. “Maybe Flash?” she tries. “Is he… is he…?”

“He lives across the hall. And he’s also at work.”

Michelle gives her own awkward laugh, shifting in the doorway.

“Do you… wanna come in?” Peter offers. _His_ surprise is based on the fact that she isn’t leaving, even now that she knows he’s the only one here. Could be that something’s wrong and she needs a minute to pull herself together. This is still strange, but he managed to escape childhood with some manners―despite his father’s influence, his mom would say.

He steps back so Michelle can enter Ned’s apartment, then closes the door after her. When he turns, she’s waiting uncertainly by the couch, so he waves her to take a seat, sitting down in a chair across from her. There’s a particularly goofy Chewbacca pillow trapped behind his back that he hopes she hasn’t noticed. This isn’t the time to try to make sense of why he would suddenly care what she thinks, but he does. He does care.

She asks about his family again and, between May’s phone calls, Vision’s emails, and the scheduling updates his mom keeps him apprised of, Peter actually has enough material to make halting conversation for a few minutes. It’s getting smoother, which is when he glances up to see her gaze intently on his face and runs out of things to say. They stare at each other as Peter panics. Wildly, sifting through the blank pages of his mind, he tries to think of something involving Michelle. Make _her_ carry the conversation for a while. He thinks of the Park―basically their only time in each other’s company and therefore their only source of shared memories―and then of how fast she and the Maximoffs left it. That’s something! Is it a good idea to talk about this? No time to consider that! Peter speaks.

“So you guys took off pretty fast,” he blurts. “Back in December. How are Wanda and Brad? Are they good?” _Shut up_ , he tells himself. _Shut up, Peter_.

But Michelle doesn’t make a big deal about the obvious phoniness of him asking after Brad’s wellbeing. She just says, “Yep.”

“Still in Manhattan?”

“Yep.”

The silence stretches, lacking any elastic quality to make it snap back, to make this easier. But Michelle could always leave to end this confusing situation, and she hasn’t. Peter tries again.

“I guess you guys won’t be coming back for a while? Upstate? Is Wanda going to keep managing the restaurant remotely or do you think she’ll sell?”

God, now he just sounds like his real estate-obsessed dad.

“Sell? Definitely not,” Michelle huffs, slumping back into the couch before straightening up again like she remembered who she’s with. “I say stuff about success coming easy to her because of her powers, but Wanda worked her ass off to open the Park. She wouldn’t just walk away.”

Peter has contrary opinions about Wanda’s ease in walking away from things (like his brother), but he doesn’t voice them.

“So… just running it from here?”

She shrugs.

“Probably. She forgot, I think, when we left Manhattan, how much she has going on here. Publicity, friends. Wanda gets invited to so much shit. So many people getting married and having kids.”

“Funny how an apocalyptic event will do that to a population,” Peter jokes. He flicks his head, shaking his hair out of his face. It’s drying curlier than usual in the heat of Ned’s apartment.

“Make people revert to the benchmarks of the American dream established in the fifties?”

“Make them need each other.”

He thinks Michelle smiles. He lets her sit with that, not jumping in to end the silence this time.

“This place is nice,” she finally says, glancing around Ned’s living room and the kitchen it opens onto. “Judging by the proximity, I’m guessing Flash picked it?”

“Yeah. And arranged all the furniture and stuff. I think Fury’s been giving him tips.”

“Interior decorating tips?”

“How-to-escape-in-an-emergency tips.”

“Ah, that sounds more like Fury,” she agrees.

“You don’t call him Uncle Fury?” Peter wonders. He’s only sorta kidding.

“It’s honestly never even crossed my mind.”

“He does have a weirdly… well, _paternal_ instinct, I guess. Working with Flash the way he has. The guy is so grateful.” He tries not to laugh as he says it.

“I’m sure he’s grateful for Ned too. From what I’ve heard through Fury, they’re working well together so far.”

“If I start listing Ned’s interpersonal skills, we’ll be here all day. He’s patient though,” he says, unable to resist talking his friend up a little, “and the most genuine, _best_ guy I know. Plus, he’s really smart. Smarter than he probably seems for having taken a job working with Flash. You’re right though. It's going good. I’m happy for him.”

“It’s nice that Ned’s close to home,” Michelle muses. She props her elbow on the armrest and something flighty inside him calms to see her settling in. “It’s hard having too much change at once, being away from your family.”

Peter can’t dig into that. He just _can’t_. She has to be thinking about losing her parents in the Second Snap, like Liz told him about. He clears his throat and tries to stay focused on Ned, ignoring the subtext. Usually he’s good at that―unaware enough that he doesn’t realize there _is_ subtext. He figures Michelle must make more sense to him than most people.

…What?

“He’s still in New York,” Peter concedes, “but it’s not _that_ short of a trip. Four hours, on a good day.”

“There are trains,” Michelle counters, “buses. It’s convenient. He could commute if he had to.”

He nearly tells her she’s completely full of shit.

“The distance is the hardest part of Ned taking this job! You talk like it’s a benefit.”

“Are you sure you’re speaking for Ned? Seems like _you’re_ the one who’s so attached to home. But if I lived in a building the size of a mall that met any need I could possibly have, I guess I’d stay put too.”

Peter’s sure he’s being made fun of until he has the bizarre thought that Michelle might be… teasing him.

“I _am_ speaking for Ned,” he insists with a smile. “It’s expensive to travel back and forth all the time.”

“He works for Flash,” she scoffs. She leans forward to assert her next point: “He can afford it.”

“He still has expenses. He puts away savings, has a weekly budget.”

“What would _you_ know about budgeting, Stark?” Michelle demands, reaching out to give his knee a playful shove.

The second she touches him, Peter’s eyes go wide, her expression turns serious, and she jolts away, sitting back against the couch. She keeps her gaze lowered, watching her finger trace the stripes on one of Ned’s pillows.

“How are you liking Tribeca?” she mumbles, not meeting his eye.

“Good, yeah, it’s a nice neighbourhood,” Peter rambles.

They manage to move from jerky awkwardness to the disinterest of strangers within a very short exchange. Right when Peter’s wondering if the only way to force an end to this would be to kick her out of the apartment, or if he’s going to have to fling himself out a window, Ned opens the front door. Peter rolls his eyes at himself; _fuck_ , he never even locked it.

“Oh my god, Peter,” Ned says. “Now Flash wants you to―”

His best friend sees Peter halfway to standing from the chair, Michelle already on her feet in front of the couch, and stares back and forth between them. The shock on his face confirms that her showing up here and staying to sit with Peter is _exactly_ as strange as he thought it was.

“I, uh, thought you’d be home,” Michelle mutters quickly, not staying now that Ned _is_ home―darting past him and out the door.

Peter realizes he’s gripping the arms of the chair and releases them, trying to be casual as he follows his friend into the kitchen, where he’s setting his phone and keys on the counter.

“I thought I’d come have lunch with you,” Ned says, clearly still baffled.

“Thanks, man.” Peter walks to the fridge and tries to hide behind the door, searching more for clarity than sandwich fixings in the chilly air. “Let me see what’s―”

Ned’s hand smacks into the fridge door and shuts it in front of Peter’s face.

“What was _that_ about? Does Michelle Jones have a crush on you? Are you guys sneaking around?”

“Are you kidding me? She _hates_ me.” (Not that he can think of any recent evidence to support that assertion.)

“She’s gotta be _in love_ with you. Are you in love with her?”

“Of course not! She just… showed up here!” Peter gestures helplessly towards the door.

“So it’s one-sided,” Ned decides, nodding calmly to himself. “Peter, would you really condemn her to a fate of unrequited love?”

“ _Jesus_ , Ned! She stopped by to see you, ok?”

He’s ignoring the way she barely spoke to Ned before leaving. The way she never specified what she wanted to talk to him about when she gave Peter that excuse earlier. Peter can’t question her motives right now, he just has to make Ned understand that _this isn’t what it looks like_. Logical? Doesn’t matter. Proof? Doesn’t matter. He _knows_ Michelle doesn’t like him. He knows it. Her liking him… having a crush on him… being _in love_ with him… No, he won’t let his thoughts go there. They made up their minds about each other months ago. She thinks he’s an overprivileged loser. He thinks she’s a judgemental backstabber. Remembering these facts helps.

“Don’t be a dumbass,” Ned cheerfully suggests.

“Don’t push this, man,” Peter pleads. He’s desperate for them not to argue about this. “There’s no way.”

His best friend holds his eye for a minute then shrugs, letting the issue go.

“She was probably just bored.”

Peter laughs, mostly in gratitude.

“Right,” he agrees.

It’s plausible. Michelle’s been back in the city for months. Peter remembers her always having her nose in a book during his days at the Park, her finger skimming down a page. She seems like the kind of person who’d go to museums and art galleries and the theatre and stuff, and if she exhausted those since getting back, exhausted them so much that she came down for a long weekend with Dear Old Uncle Fury, then yeah, she was probably just getting restless and looking for some entertainment. What else is she gonna do? Sit around while Fury schemes? While he takes stealth jets in and out of the country? That’s probably Michelle’s last resort and Peter―if it was him she came to see, which he’s not actually ready to admit―was simply her _second_ last resort. There’s no compliment in that.

Peter spends the afternoon (once Ned’s gone back to work) ignoring the morning, then analyzing it, then ignoring it, so he’s baffled all over again when Michelle comes back with Flash and Ned at the end of the day. Apparently, the four of them are having dinner together at Flash’s―ordered in; Flash is a godawful cook―until Carol shows up and makes it a slightly less self-conscious five. She’s great and Peter’s still enjoying getting to hear her stories and, honestly, sit in awe of one of the coolest Avengers (not that he’d pick favourites out loud), but he can’t relax in front of Michelle. Why is she here? If she had to come, why didn’t she wait to come with Carol? It’s not like Michelle’s suddenly changed, transformed into someone gregarious and engaging, the life of the party, like Peter’s dad, for example. She’s quiet at best, moody at worst, and never seems especially interested in any of her dinner companions. Ned tries to draw her out, dropping cues for her to tell or ask him whatever she’d come over to that morning, but she’s stubborn, vacant. Her aunt laughs and teases her about what a _fascinating_ guest she is. Nothing from Michelle.

The teasing doesn’t work on her, but it’s interesting to Peter. It says this is something she’s used to, since it doesn’t seem to bother her. There’s a side of her that he hasn’t seen. Maybe part of it was what he witnessed this morning, before they pushed too far and froze up. He never thought he knew all of her, but he _did_ think he had the general idea. Wrong is something he used to be a lot. When he was Spider-Man, when he was so many things he may or may not be able to be again. It’s not so bad, being wrong. He can stand it.

Ned devotes dinner to playing Love Detective. Neither Michelle nor Peter are behaving the way he’s used to. Yeah, he didn’t buy his best friend’s bullshit earlier. Not even close. From what Ned’s seen of Michelle Jones, she could live a thousand years inside her head before needing human interaction. Her coming to Peter was _deliberate_ and _meaningful_ and she’s watching him all through dinner, careful to do it when Peter’s attention is turned the other way. She’d probably notice Ned studying her if she wasn’t so hung up on Peter; it’s seriously odd that she _hasn’t_ noticed him, which just confirms that she only has eyes for Ned’s best friend. Right? Except sometimes she’s staring at Peter with what looks like blatant _longing_ and other times it’s like she’s not seeing him at all, just zoned out with her gaze pointed in his general direction. Ned’s going to get to the bottom of this.

After Michelle and Carol leave for the night, Ned heads the charge on washing the plates, glasses, and cutlery (take-out or not, Flash insisted on using his _good china_ ―there was necessary eye rolling exchanged between Ned and Peter). Flash disappears to, presumably, change polo shirts, leaving Ned with his arms halfway submerged in the sink and Peter at his side with a dishtowel. It feels like a hundred different configurations, all the ways of mentioning Michelle that Ned’s testing out in his head. He can’t make the words stick together long enough to get anything out. He knows, if he messes this up, that Peter will get all panicky and uncomfortable. But he also strongly believes that, if his best friend actually freaking admitted to himself that Michelle likes him, he’d like her back in a heartbeat. If Peter wasn’t so prepared to defend himself―feeling like he’s always on the back foot, always waiting for things to go south―he’d really have a shot at this. Ned sees it so clearly. It’s right in front of them. Peter just needs to trust her.

* * *

Tuesday. The day before Valentine’s Day. The day Peter spends running from Flash and into Michelle.

Flash takes the lathe of his determination to Peter the minute they enter the office in the morning and Peter’s resistance is all shaved down and smoothed out within half an hour. He carefully agrees to things―enough to seem like he’s doing a lot, but nothing so demanding that it’ll feel like he’s a total sellout. He gets into the car Flash calls and lets himself be trotted around Midtown, photographed shaking hands in Time Square. Answering Flash’s inane questions with a strained smile on his face and the Brooklyn Bridge stretched out in the background. When Flash decides to duck into TIT headquarters while they’re in the area, Peter doesn’t announce his differing plans, just sprints off as the guy pushes through the doors of the towering office building that houses his inherited company. Phew.

So that’s the running from part. The running _into_ starts right after.

Peter’s worried that Flash might call the office when he realizes Peter’s phone is off, so he steers clear. Instead, he takes the day for himself. He buys a baseball cap and keeps it jammed down. Classic disguise. He has no plan beyond that, which is kinda nice, but his day becomes ordered all the same. Somehow, everything he does is just a limited space of time before he runs into Michelle again. They meet at a bookstore, Peter almost tripping over his feet when he starts to walk down an aisle where she’s drawing a book off a shelf to read its synopsis; at a coffee shop, as Peter’s going out the door and she’s coming in; at a deli, recognizing her two people ahead of him in line for a sandwich. Three times. It’s not impossible, but it’s super unlikely. And yet. There she is, there he is.

On one of their passes, at the coffee shop, he tells her his favourite spot is the roof of Ned’s apartment building. He can’t see another way to make sure she’s able to avoid him than to let her know exactly where he’s most likely to be. The craziest thing is that they’re not all just passes―they eat lunch together at the deli because it seems stupid to sit at different tables. Not only do they eat, they talk. Michelle’s no more of a chatterbox than she’s ever been and Peter’s really gotten a handle on his compulsion to fill silences, but they do alright, he thinks. Anyone who looks over at them would think they were… colleagues. Not quite friends, maybe.

The real weirdness in their exchange, over lunch, and earlier, between stacks of books―voices hushed, standing closer together―is that she’s asking about _him_. Not about his family or Ned, but about Peter personally, like she’s actually interested in his thoughts. What’s he enjoying most about being back in the city? Did he see the new exhibit at the…? She’s finding the weather damper than Upstate, though less windy, is he? Does he like walking through the city alone? So does she. When they do shift the discussion away from themselves, Michelle cares less about what Flash and Ned are doing at work than the fact that they, two seemingly opposite people, function so well together. Something disarmingly optimistic flickers across her face when Peter agrees, offhandedly. He can only guess that she’s asking for Fury’s sake, checking in on Flash’s partnership to ensure things are running smoothly. That seems like a Fury thing to do, Peter thinks. Monitor every cog in the machine.

Peter’s in a flower shop later on, quietly browsing for something he can get Ned for his desk while employees arrange bouquets in a flurry of cellophane and baby’s breath in the back of the shop. The whole place smells like roses. He’s never seen so many in one spot. The door chimes as Peter’s stepping out of the refrigerated area, rubbing the sleeve of his coat across the cold tip of his nose, and he expects it to be Michelle. Instead, it’s her aunt.

“Shopping for Valentine’s day?” he asks Carol, unable to help perking up with her grinning like that.

“I think I was getting on Fury’s nerves. So I decided to buy him several dozen roses to get on his nerves even more.”

“What colour do you think?”

“Oh, red. Gotta go with a classic.”

“There’s lots in there,” Peter points out helpfully.

He re-enters the flower fridge with Carol, selecting an arrangement of yellow roses that’s already in a vase for Ned while she collects her red ones with a mischievous, satisfied look on her face that makes Peter laugh.

“I’d have them delivered,” she says, “but you know the deliver guy would never get past Fury’s security. These please!” she adds as they step up to the counter, laying down her prize.

Peter waits behind Carol until she waves him forward, paying for Ned’s flowers as well. He protests until she tells him it’s not really _her_ paying (she says her credit cards always expire while she’s off-planet), if he gets what she means. Peter considers the roses his compensation for Fury’s bullying and happily accepts.

“Are you in town much longer?” Peter asks as their orders are being swathed in coordinating tissue paper.

Carol leans her elbow on the counter and shrugs.

“Shouldn’t be, unless MJ changes our plans again.”

“Again?”

“We were supposed to leave first thing yesterday morning to go see my daughter, Monica. I know she’ll be able to keep herself busy for a few extra days though. I see MJ even less, so I don’t mind going by her schedule.”

“But why would she…?” Peter starts to wonder aloud. Thankfully, it’s covered by the crinkle of cellophane as their flowers are handed back across the counter.

“I’ll call a cab,” he offers before they step outside. It’s getting colder and the sky’s a pale grey that looks like snow; probably not the best weather to walk a dozen blocks with an armful of fresh flowers in.

They’re still waiting when Peter picks up the conversation where Carol left off.

“She seems to like her independence. Michelle. I guess she doesn’t even answer to an Avenger,” he jokes.

“MJ definitely goes her own way,” her aunt agrees with a grin. “Makes her own choices, blazes her own trail. That’s her Rambeau side. Just like her mom, and my wife. When she gets self-important about it, talking about how people should do things for themselves, I remind her that most of us would if we could. I clawed my way through a lot of prejudice, and a lot of people on this planet have it worse. Out there…” She gestures over their heads, beyond the ceiling of the flower shop, and Peter can’t stop himself from looking up. “Typically, it’s not the beings who’ve enjoyed an advantaged life that I come into contact with. They’d love to have a little bit of my niece’s agency. But don’t let me preach,” Carol says with a laugh, shifting the enormous bunch of roses in her arms.

“No,” Peter assures her quickly, “you’re not.”

“I can’t be too critical because, like I said, MJ’s independence is a family trait. It’s one of the things that made me marry Maria.”

“MJ, I mean _Michelle_ , probably likes hanging out with you for the same reasons,” he suggests. “I’m surprised she isn’t seeing anyone. Somebody to keep between herself and… everybody else, I guess.”

Carol laughs lightly and Peter frowns.

“What?”

“Oh, it’s just that you sound like your dad. I’ve heard how he talks about your mom and I think that’s how he sees himself, being between her and the world.”

“I think it’s the opposite. My dad _really_ hates dealing with the world. My mom pretty much handles that for him.”

“Seems like it could work either way. For MJ too.”

“You think she… what?”

“I think she needs somebody to protect as much as she needs a protector. Somebody who’s as loyal as she is.”

Peter’s ears feel hot suddenly and he doesn’t know why. Carol’s watching him carefully.

“Like Wanda maybe?” he asks. “Not, uh, romantically or whatever, but I think there’s a lot of loyalty there.”

“Her best friend, Wanda?”

“Yeah, do you know her?”

“Not well. Fury made me try to recruit her once,” Carol laughs, “but Wanda was still keeping her head down then. That kid’s seen a lot of war. I felt bad trying to drag her into more for the Avengers.”

“I’m surprised Michelle let you anywhere near her. She’s… picky about who gets close to her friends.” Peter’s tone is a little bitter, thinking about his brother. Michelle didn’t try too hard to look out for Wanda _then_ , when Vision was right _there_.

“That’s what I was saying about her loyalty! Wanda owes her one, by the sounds of it, not that friendship’s about keeping score.”

Her grin tells Peter that’s _exactly_ what friendship’s about when you’re friends with people like Fury.

“Why would she owe her one?”

“Just something MJ was talking about the other day.” Carol darts an appraising glance at Peter. “You’ll keep this between us, won’t you?”

“Sure.” Who’s he gonna tell the secrets of Michelle Jones’s friendship to? Why would he bother?

“Well, I’m only guessing it’s Wanda, but MJ doesn’t have a big group of friends.”

“Ok.”

“Anyway, she said― Oh! That’s ours!”

A cab pulls up to the curb and Peter bundles down his disappointment (and his face, into his scarf) as they bolt from the shop to the car, clambering into the back seat and giving the driver directions. Once they get their respective bouquets oriented, Carol tosses her hair out of her face and continues.

“So her friend, she was telling me, was about to get involved with some guy who was _completely_ wrong for her. Would’ve blasted her heart out if MJ hadn’t gotten in the way. Sounded like this could’ve been about Wanda to me, since they were living together recently. I can’t think of anyone else MJ’s spent that much time with lately, you know, enough to have time to really monitor the situation as it was developing.”

Peter’s heart is pounding and he feels queasy.

“What was…” His throat’s dry in the back of this cab. He swallows. “What was so wrong about this guy?”

“MJ said he was taking advantage of her friend’s kindness, and if the friend _was_ Wanda, maybe her powers were going to be taken advantage of too.”

“That’s―”

“I _know_. It’s despicable! Can you even imagine? From our perspective, it just makes me sick.”

“How did she stop it?” His whole body is tense. _This can’t be about Vision_ , he thinks. _She can’t mean Vision_. But who else was there, over those weeks at the Park? That’s the whole point, isn’t it? Who else was there for Wanda but Vision?

“That’s everything I know,” Carol says. “I guess MJ was just in a sharing mood, then she got over it.” She laughs and Peter doesn’t want to know what his attempt at a smile looks like. “Why are you making that face?”

 _Shit_.

“It just seems kinda… Why does Michelle get to make Wanda’s choices for her?”

“You think she crossed a line?”

“Honestly, _yes_ ,” Peter insists. “It sounds like _she_ watched these two people, decided _she_ understood the situation better than they did, and solved it the way _she_ felt like solving it, when maybe it didn’t need solving at all. If their positions were switched, maybe I’d get it. Wanda could get into Michelle’s head and see how she felt. I don’t think she’d do that without her permission though,” he says, shaking his head. “The biggest problem with this is that Michelle didn’t ask Wanda what she wanted―and how are you supposed to be best friends with somebody without respecting them enough to do that, by the way? That’s not being concerned, it’s being controlling.”

He realizes he’s ranting, ranting and panting, and lets the hand he’s been gesturing with drop onto the seat as he exhales.

“Yeah, but everything worked out?” Carol says tentatively, voice lifting towards humour. She laughs. “Wanda’s fine. That’s the result. And I know MJ wouldn’t hurt a friend. Then she’d have to go out and make a new one.”

It’s clearly a joke and Peter laughs weakly. He doesn’t have to uphold any kind of lighthearted façade long though―the cab ride’s pretty short.

When he gets up to Ned’s apartment and checks his phone for the time, he sees that his friend won’t be home for another half hour. Peter tries to relax so he can act like himself by then, but it’s not working. He puts his outerwear away roughly, shaking when his hands snap a coat hanger in Ned’s front closet. Michelle did that. She did that to Vision. His brother. He paces the living room, dying to scream. Has he been thinking she was totally innocent? No, but _Brad_ was the one who seemed like the obvious villain. The brother, the asshole. Brad! It even rhymes with bad! Ugh, Peter’s losing it.

He gets a drink of water, swallowing deeply though the cold’s hard on his throat. It was always Michelle. She tore the best thing Vision’s had in his life in years away from him without ever really considering him at all. Vision was _hurting_ because of her. He’s _been_ hurting and, according to a text from Aunt May when Peter seeks distraction on his phone, he’s hurting again. Another surge of heartache that’s taken the family unaware, left Vision quietly despondent. Peter sets his phone on the couch before he can hurl it against a wall or crack the screen beneath his thumb. His brother was at his best. So hopeful for the future, _feeling_ so much, open and ready for a life none of them ever imagined for him. And then this? _This_ , on purpose? Who knows what this will do to Vision long-term. His evolution might always be stunted where it’s supposed to reach out for relationships, for love. How could Michelle take that from him?

Peter makes himself sit down, resting his face in his palms, then digging the heels of his hands into his closed eyes in frustration.

 _MJ said he was taking advantage of her friend’s kindness, and if the friend was Wanda, maybe her powers were going to be taken advantage of too._ That’s what Carol could tell Peter about his brother. Yeah, Vision did benefit from Wanda’s kindness, from her powers, but that was after their dad completely fucked with his programming by running that bullshit diagnostic! It wasn’t some kind of scam; Vision needed help, and he didn’t even ask for it. Wanda did that for him. She understood the problem and knew she could do something about it. Devoting her time and abilities to Vision’s care was her choice. It’s all running on a loop in Peter head.

The shittiest thing is that none of this has anything to do with his brother. If Michelle knew Vision at all, she would’ve seen how wrong she was. Vision’s made of curiosity and passion and selflessness, growing into a better person than most who are born human ever manage to be. And couldn’t the rest of the Starks vouch for him? Yes, they can be arrogant and restless and overcaffeinated and under-rested, but they’ve also saved the damn world a time or two. In Peter’s mind, that fucking pretty well cancels out the expensive suits and occasional waltzing, if Michelle really feels like tallying their virtues and their faults.

Peter shuts himself in the guest room, withdrawing from his best friend for the first time since they’ve patched things back up. He feels awful about it, but Ned would only worry, seeing how upset he is. He can’t discuss this. That night, he manages an untalkative dinner and his friend’s delight and thanks for the roses that he’ll be taking into work the next day. His sleep is shitty. The following morning, Peter can only speak to his friend through the bedroom door before Ned goes off to work. He can’t face whatever themed bullshit Flash would want to force on him today. Mostly, he stews on the couch.

In the evening, Ned and Flash head out to _another_ dinner at Fury’s. Ned doesn’t push him to come and, for once, he keeps Flash out of the apartment so he can’t attempt to talk Peter into it either. It’s quiet when they’re gone. It’s Valentine’s Day and Peter’s alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that was a roller coaster of a chapter for Peter and Michelle's relationship. It's a lot for Ned to make sense of, though he might be a little more correct than Peter's prepared to accept! Although I haven't finished writing this fic yet, I think this is going to be the halfway point and next chapter is a BIG one. Big in length (at over 7000 words, it's the longest chapter by far) and big in importance. If you're familiar with the original story, you know what's coming, and if you're not, I'm excited for you to experience a momentous chapter!
> 
> Thanks for reading the first half, everyone!!!


	17. Valentine's Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "‘I might as well inquire,’ replied she, ‘why with so evident a design of offending and insulting me, you chose to tell me that you liked me against your will, against your reason, and even against your character?’" - _Pride and Prejudice_ , ch. 34

Peter goes to the roof, where he can still see daylight, but it’s only a hot orange blaze on the horizon. This is the first time he’s been up here in the evening. He turns on one of the outdoor space heaters that Flash told him won’t be put back into the building’s storage until April. Even with the last light so far away, Peter swears he’s warmer before the sun passes below the horizon. He settles into a chair, unwinding his scarf once the heater’s keeping him toasty, and looks up at the fuzzy grey-blue sky. He misses the stars back home.

Digging his phone out of his pocket, Peter opens the thread of emails he’s exchanged with Vision since his brother went to stay with their aunt and uncle almost a month ago. There’s no good reason to reread them besides worsening his grudge against Michelle. As Peter scans through the emails, he notices that Vision never dredges up the past (the way he is right now). Though he faithfully recorded moments like his interactions with Brad, he never explicitly mentions how it made him feel. And yet, Peter could see the struggle. He can _still_ see it, going over Vision’s words again. There’s something in his emails that comes across… flat. Like he’s gathering information for a perfunctory reason rather than out of the curiosity he normally displays. There’s a robotic efficiency and very little _life_ here. It makes Peter shiver and drag his chair closer to the heater.

Michelle enjoyed it. From what Carol told him, she’s obviously proud of herself for saving ( _saving_!) her friend from Vision (from _Vision_!). If she’s that happy about the result for Wanda, she has to be equally happy about what it did to Vision, right? Sparing her best friend potential future pain by ensuring Vision’s immediate heartbreak. Yeah, that was fair. Peter’s expression feels crumpled and sarcastic as he flicks through the emails with less precision. Thank Thor Michelle’s leaving soon. Carol made it sound like tomorrow or Friday. Then, Peter will be leaving too, swinging by Queens to pick up Vision so the two of them can head back to the compound together. He’s ready to start putting all his energy into supporting his brother emotionally, countering everything Vision’s been feeling since Michelle Jones decided to try a saviour complex on for size.

He'll keep avoiding Fury’s building, like he is tonight, and the only downside is not getting to hang out with Carol. Oh well, hopefully the next time they run into each other her niece isn’t with her.

Peter’s remembering some of Carol’s stories and trying to picture the airbase in California, the house in Louisiana, imagining her showing him around those places and maybe taking him up in a jet, when the door to the roof opens. First guess, one of the building’s tenants. Second guess, Ned, barely entering Fury’s and then doing a 180 to come back and check on him. Third guess, Carol. Maybe she’d be disappointed they couldn’t talk and goof around at dinner. When Michelle Jones steps out from behind the door, he doesn’t even attempt to pin the same reasoning on her. What the hell is _she_ doing here? Peter opens his mouth to ask her, but she strides towards him with purpose, stops abruptly, and speaks first.

“Hey. So, are you ok?”

Peter shifts to sit up straight in his chair. The lights on the roof are soft on Michelle’s hair, her face, but he isn’t going to be.

“I’m fine.”

“You… didn’t come over with Ned and Flash,” she says, gaze falling like she’s suddenly shy. What a fucking act. Unless she knows what Carol told him. In that case, she’s right to be nervous of how he’ll react.

“I wasn’t feeling very social.”

Michelle seems to assume this doesn’t apply to her―it actually _only_ applies to her―because she takes a chair across from him, propping her elbows on the arms and rocking forward to meet his eye. Faster than she sat, she’s up again, taking a few quick steps, then standing behind the chair and gripping its back. Why is she _here_ , skipping a dinner that couldn’t have even started before she left. Peter’s silent, his stomach swirling with anticipation, anger, and a lack of food. With a big, audible exhale, she moves to the side of the chair. Her hand reaches out to him, but she lets it drop before she speaks.

“I’ve been trying really hard to ignore this.”

He lets her statement hang there. His eyes are wary on her face, the shadow that hugs her cheek when she restlessly swings her head. What is she fighting? Whatever it is, Peter decides she deserves it. She looks miserable. Good. So is his brother thanks to her.

“Peter, I like you, I… I really, _really_ like you. After Upstate, I had myself almost talked out of it, but then… being around you the past few days…”

Is he moving? Is his chair tilting? Has he fallen over and smacked his head, becoming dizzy and discombobulated? Maybe he never turned the heater on and he died up here in the cold from, like, exposure. What a shitty, confusing afterlife this is. At least she hasn’t said―

“I’m in love with you, Peter,” Michelle professes, standing there awkwardly beside the chair, the look on her face so demanding for what should be a giving sentiment. “It wasn’t going away, so I figured I had to try the one thing I hadn’t yet and just… tell you.”

Even in the semi-dark, light mostly at waist-level and up for her where she’s standing, Peter can see her knees just about knocking together with nerves as she staggers in front of the chair and drops back into it. He can’t tell if he’s unable to speak or he just so powerfully doesn’t want to. Evidently, the fact of him not contributing to this confession isn’t a problem. She continues, one-sided, and Peter hears about how long she’s been feeling this way―it started back when they were cooped up at the Park together, like she eluded to. Michelle’s articulate in a way that isn’t surprising based on the amount he knows she reads, but he’s never heard her speak this much at once before, so the way she expresses herself is almost as much of a surprise as that she’s using this eloquence to go on and on about _him_.

It's not all instinct and hormones and longing. He’s still trying to figure out how to handle those things when she moves on to the pricklier practicalities of her crush on him. Peter’s a Stark, Michelle informs him, a name as synonymous with wealth as it is with saving the world (universe, he resists correcting her). His family’s lifestyle grates against her anti-capitalist sensibilities. Their parties, their pandering to politicians―trading donations for stains to whatever moral standards they had that _used_ _to_ make them save people. He doesn’t have to guess who she means when she says his brother and sister are irreverent attention-seekers. They’re too dramatic, she says, too superficial, and his father is the worst of them all. They stay in their mansion―no matter how industrial they might think ‘compound’ sounds, if it’s bigger than a city block, it’s a fucking mansion―and lose touch with the world and convince themselves that throwing some money at a small percentage of people who are still suffering because of what _they_ failed prevent when Thanos came sniffing around for Infinity Stones is doing _enough_.

But, all of that aside, Michelle believes that Peter has goodness and honour and the ability to treat people like people and not like write-offs on his taxes. He has so much about him that she just wants to be _close_ to. So she’s overlooking the reprehensible aspects of the family he comes from in favour of falling in love with him.

At this point, the ball is clearly in his court.

Objectively―and it’s hard to be objective, but Peter’s had a lot of practice solving neighbourhood disputes he happened upon―it’s flattering. Michelle’s attractive and intelligent and seems to have her life figured out in a way he sure as hell doesn’t. Still being objective, imagining himself outside of this situation entirely, he’s sympathetic that she’s going to be rejected. If she really is in love, she’s about to be embarrassed and she’s about to be hurt. With complete bias now, Peter thinks it’s her own goddamn fault for what a terrible person she’s been. He can’t answer her while sustaining either of those perspectives though; there’s no way he can stay distant about this, but he also can’t let loose all of his anger over her actions at once. Peter leans away from the heater a little, getting a deep breath of pure, cold February air. She starts talking again, more deliberate now, presenting her solution for all this (her unwanted and finally accepted feelings): they should date. And despite fucking _everything_ , Michelle looks quietly confident. She expects him to agree.

It's the certainty that makes him throw out all the diplomacy he planned and answer sarcastically.

“I’m supposed to… find it impossible to say no, right? Like, based on what you said, I should be grateful that you’d wanna go out with me. Even if I wasn’t as much in love with you as you are with me, I should give it a shot and at least go on one date, is that it? Give you a chance after you bothered to make a case like that. About how big it is of you to be interested in me _in spite of_ all the downsides. Also, I should probably thank you.”

Peter hits her with an intentionally drawn-out pause.

She’s confused, he can tell, and it’s shifting towards annoyance when he goes on, “Yeah, the problem―for you, not for me―is that I couldn’t care less about what you expect or what you’ll think of me after this. I didn’t ask to hear any of that,” he says bluntly. “If it’s true, then all I can say is, you’ll get over it. Should be easier than forcing yourself to accept your feelings in the first place, since you’ve already thought of plenty of reasons why it was a bad idea.”

He comes to an abrupt halt and Michelle sort of jolts a little, like she was ready to rise from the chair and he knocked her back. She looks mad too, but a lot of what’s in her expression is surprise. And then the anger comes to the surface again as her face flushes and her eyes grow cold. It takes her at least a full minute to speak though. Maybe she’s trying to remain composed, the way he thought he could. Did his (admittedly, kinda petty) silence make her as anxious as hers is now making him? When she responds, it’s… aggressively toneless.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Well,” she explains, “I was just going to ask why you were saying no, but if you want to throw in why you’re being a total asshole in the process, feel free.”

“Oh, well, if we’re calling each other out,” Peter says, irritation bubbling up as he shifts forward in his chair, “why don’t you tell _me_ why you bothered to say any of the good shit if you were going to make it sound completely worthless next to all that stuff about my family? Don’t you think _that_ was a little fucked up? You started this and, you know, that really would’ve been enough of a reason to be _a total asshole_ back to you, but you know that’s not the real issue.”

“The real issue? Please, let’s get to the _real_ issue,” Michelle invited with an eye roll and a sloppy wave of her hand. “I can’t believe we’ve already wasted so much time talking about something as trivial as my feelings.”

“Your feelings?” Peter’s speechless for a few seconds. “If you expected _your_ feelings to matter more to me than Vision’s, you’re out of your mind.”

She frowns.

“What’s Vision got to do with this?”

He laughs―a sharp, bitter snarl of sound.

“ _Everything_. He’s heartbroken thanks to you. That’s right,” Peter assures her, “you meddled in Wanda’s life and it had _consequences_. I thought it was Brad. I really thought it was Brad, but of course it was you. You think you’re so much smarter than the rest of us. That you can judge for other people, make their decisions for them. How did that work out for Wanda, by the way? Because, like I said, it hasn’t been so great for my brother.”

He's panting, anticipating a break to catch his breath while Michelle argues, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t look startled or defensive, and she sure as hell doesn’t look sorry.

“Admit that you did it!” Peter finally snaps.

Her cold control is deeper than ever.

“I looked out for my best friend, is that what you need to hear? I’m not going to fucking apologize for that. I was better at putting a stop to that than to this.” Michelle gestures between the two of them and Peter flinches.

“And what about Liz?” he tosses out. He might not be with Liz, or even care about that now, but she’s part of this and isn’t here to speak on her own behalf. “I knew what kind of person you were, thanks to her. When you did that to Vision, it was just confirmation. What’s your excuse there, huh? Sometimes you look out for your friends and sometimes you just… don’t?”

“You must really care about her.” Her voice is soft, hurt maybe, but he doesn’t have time for her jealousy.

“I care about what you did to her,” Peter corrects. “I think anyone would.”

“What _I_ did to _her_ ,” Michelle repeats.

“You quit supporting her when she needed you the most! She doesn’t want to be a nomad, she wants a _home_! She wants the home she was supposed to have and couldn’t afford to keep, thanks to you. Your parents―”

“ _Don’t_.”

A chill moves through Peter. He can’t tell if he crossed the line or just stepped on it. He should’ve known better than that, it’s true. It’s one thing to bring up her past with Liz, but he shouldn’t have dragged her family into it. Her grief isn’t part of this argument. She’s already out of her chair though. There’s no chance of saying sorry, even if he could get the words out.

“So,” she says, walking away, then turning back to face him, “I can see why your answer shouldn’t have been a surprise. You’ve been building your case against me almost as long as I’ve…” Michelle stops herself. “I appreciate you taking your time and I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?”

“I’m sorry for _you_. You spent all that time apparently figuring me out and you know what, Stark? You don’t know shit. Maybe you would’ve noticed if you weren’t such a pretentious fucking _hero_.” She shrugged. “You must be on the right side, right? Because you’re _always_ on the right side.”

“This doesn’t have anything to do with that,” Peter says. Mention of that past life makes him antsy and defensive and he’s on his feet now too, the backs of his legs pressed to the chair.

“Sure it does. I pressed the button nobody’s supposed to press, right?”

“I was never going to say yes. Trust me, there is no universe where we had this conversation and I said yes to you.”

Michelle stiffens, shoves her hands into her pockets. They have to be getting cold, away from the heater, not that he cares. She sniffs a little as she looks up and away from him.

“You’ve been like this since the beginning,” Peter continues. Maybe he shouldn’t, but he can’t let this go. That she still thinks she somehow had a shot. “You judged me, you ignored me, you badmouthed me behind my back. Enhanced hearing,” he clarifies, pointing at his ear. “You mistreated Vision, Liz before that. I made up my mind about you ages ago.”

“Congratulations on your little black-and-white frontpage life,” Michelle bites out. She shakes her head. “Wake up, Spider-Man.”

She turns away and hurries to the door. Peter takes a step after her on instinct. No. He sits down again, feeling his heart race, feeling exposed, feeling sick. Not stopping to think, he shuts off the heater and climbs over the side of the building, fingers clinging as he leans out and watches the sidewalk. Soon, Michelle walks past, heading back to Fury’s. He huffs angrily and flips himself high, landing back on the roof. She wanted him to be her boyfriend, she’s _in love_ with him. Probably not anymore, but still. It’s insane. She’s been feeling like that for _months_? Peter’s seen some strange shit, some _really_ strange shit, but that… He never would’ve guessed. It's true though. And what she did to Vision, that’s true too.

Peter spends another night shutting out the world from the shelter of Ned’s guest room.

* * *

Flash is probably starting to complain (or deep into his complaining) about Peter’s absence from their office and from his videos, but Ned shields Peter from all of it; he gets ready for work earlier so he can knock on his neighbour’s door before Flash can knock on theirs and never makes Peter feel like he’s letting anyone down. Which is something his best friend just _gets_ about him, that letting people down is still one of his biggest fears. Peter gets up when Ned does, allowing them to eat cereal together, then goes back to bed for a while.

When he wakes up the second time, a couple of hours later, there’s no Ned to distract him from reliving last night. The surprise of being the object of Michelle Jones’s love confession is still great enough to make him fall out of bed. Yep, right out, onto the floor, arms flailing as he catches himself in the sheet, then thumps to the thick carpet. Peter sighs and stares up at the white ceiling. He should just get out of here, go home now… except his schedule affects Vision too. He could go stay at his aunt and uncle’s in Queens, escape the neighbourhood, but he knows it would only increase this itchy feeling that he needs to get home. For now, he needs fresh air.

Peter returns to the roof and it’s―thankfully―a completely different place in daylight than it was last night. The sun’s shining, not directly overhead yet, and the sky’s kinda greyish-blue. He stands by one of the gardens and rests his hand against the neat brick wall retaining it. He’s squinting upwards, trying to decide if it’s just a late-winter haziness or if there’s actually a thin layer of weather coming their way, gently amassing in translucent clouds, when the rooftop door opens. Déjà fucking vu. _Don’t turn_ , he tells himself, gripping the garden wall. _Don’t turn. It’s not her. She wouldn’t come back here after last night_.

“Peter?”

Fuck. It’s Michelle’s voice. He spins around, knocking loose some of the smooth stones composing the top layer of the bed, and tries not to look at her.

“Peter.”

Her voice is firmer as he attempts to pass her by. It’s not sharp with anger, but there’s something it in that orders him not to ignore her. He’s unable. She clearly expected him to keep going and he started to swing back, so they meet steps from the door, nearly colliding.

“Here.” She shoves an envelope into his hands and he takes it. If his dad could see him now, he’d be rhetorically asking if Peter’s learned nothing from him all these years. Never let anyone hand you things is, like, a cardinal rule in the Stark household. “I was looking for you,” Michelle admits, tucking her hair swiftly behind her ear. “Um, around. I didn’t know if you’d… but here you are. I was going to call you or put it in an email, but I went back to Fury’s last night and there was paper and a pen and I just… Read that.” She taps the envelope he’s holding and he grasps that it must contain a letter. A letter from her to him. “Please.”

She’s out of there before he realizes he never said a word to her. Peter stares at the closed door, then glances down to the letter in his hand. He crosses to the garden again. Could he throw the thing straight off the roof? Sure, but what would that do? Who knows what’s in here, what somebody who picked it up on the sidewalk or out of the street might read about him? Actually, _Peter_ wants to know. The fact that Michelle came back to this place that he’s basically staked out as his territory makes him curious. There has to be a good reason for that. After they were so ugly to each other. Which she definitely deserved. Whatever, he can’t stop himself from opening it. He’s always been pretty terrible at impulse control.

His first thought is that her writing is tiny. His second is that there’s a hell of a lot of it.

Wonderingly, Peter unfolds two neatly-creased pages, written on both front and back. Some part of him’s glad she doesn’t waste paper. He leans forward, propping his elbows on the brick wall and holding up the first page while he sets the second, and its envelope, on the stones, picking one out to weigh the paper down until he gets to it. He forgets about climbing over the side of the building to watch her leave. He forgets about everything but the letter.

 _I really hope you get this far_ , she begins. _Maybe that’s a dumb way to start, but I think one of the things we learned last night is that we’re good at assuming the worst of each other, so you’re going to have to let me have this―my low expectations. This is going to be about last night, and everything that happened before that we mentioned, and some other things that happened that weren’t mentioned but should be. What I won’t do is write out those three little words. So, don’t worry. I’m also hoping to avoid embarrassing either of us. Maybe I’ve already done that in the process of handing this over. Why am I risking it at all? Before you get too full of yourself, it’s for my sake, not yours. I couldn’t stand you not knowing everything and, once you read this, I hope you’ll be glad that you do. You’ve never seemed like the ’ignorance is bliss’ type anyway._

_There are a couple of things we need to clear up. I should just say two, to be specific, and that I’m the one to do the clearing up. Believe me, you’ve been clear enough. The first one’s easier to deal with. Straightforward, I mean. Maybe not emotionally easier because it’s about your brother. You told me I split them up because I enjoy making decisions for other people, implying that, in that situation, I cared most about myself and being right. (Even if I’m not right, which… we’ll get to.) The second thing is that, more or less, I ruined Liz Allan’s life. I think that’s a reasonable summary of what you said. From where you stand and what I can guess that Liz told you, it looks like I trashed our friendship, our parents’ friendship, essentially stole money from her (because of an agreement between the aforementioned parents), drove her to a transient lifestyle, and was generally a cold-hearted monster about the whole thing._

_I’ll start with Wanda and Vision. Because you’ll probably wonder: yes, I was aware that Wanda was interested in your brother. I’m sure most people noticed it at the open house, but I’m going to take credit for noticing it first, way back at your family’s benefit. She wasn’t just interested in him because of what or who (I hope that isn’t offensive, I genuinely don’t understand which to use) he is, or interested more in him than in someone else. There wasn’t anyone else in her life like that, and there never has been over the years I’ve known her. Still, I didn’t realize how deep it went until the open house. Like I said, I could tell she was interested, but ‘interested in’ and ‘in love with’ are two very different things. I guess I can appreciate that difference better now than I could at the time._

_That night, your father was talking about Vision and Wanda as though they were already a couple. I was surprised, but I know thinking a few steps ahead of everyone else is Tony Stark’s thing. People seemed on board with it though, Vision and Wanda, and I realized it wasn’t just your father who was assuming this future for them, it was everybody. I watched her after that and saw that she was more open about her closeness with him than I’d seen her before. Although Wanda’s a friendly person, she doesn’t like to touch people if she can help it; she thinks her powers make them nervous. More than once, I saw her hand on Vision’s arm or tucked through it._

_I watched your brother too. He seemed polite, attentive, engaged when someone was talking to the two of them, but none of that was anything I hadn’t seen from him before, at your benefit, for example. It didn’t look as though he was paying any more attention to Wanda than to anyone else. I started thinking that it must have been Wanda who initiated all those touches while Vision just received them because he has good manners. Sure, he looked happy to be there with her, but not thrilled about it, like she was the only other person in the room, or like he was in love with her. I would describe Wanda’s behaviour as suggesting she felt both of those things._

_After what you told me on the roof, I realized I could’ve been wrong. Obviously, you know Vision much better than I do and you didn’t seem like you were exaggerating when you called him heartbroken. I don’t understand him very well at all. Maybe it would’ve been better if no one had ever told me that Vision didn’t begin life as a real person, because I know that having that information has biased me. Part of what made me doubt his feelings for Wanda was that I didn’t understand that he was capable of those feelings in the first place. I’ve seen him be well-mannered and I’ve seen him in pain, but the first is something any robot―I’m sorry, I’m using this word in reference to how I used to think of Vision―can be taught, and I guess I interpreted the second as the logical translation of a sentient computer getting a virus, how it cripples a system before it can be expelled. I didn’t consider the possibility of him emoting anything deeper, or that his affection for Wanda could’ve still been in the process of growing. I’ve said that I could’ve been wrong, and I know that it’s more like I’m probably wrong, if not definitely wrong. If Vision falls in love the same way the rest of us do, I understand how much what I did hurt, and why you were so furious at me for doing it in the first place, and for brushing it off as not a big deal. I’m sorry for trying to make Vision less than what he is._

_Please know that I never wanted to assume your brother’s indifference to my best friend. If you don’t believe anything else, believe that I want her to be happy. I want her to be able to hold a man’s arm at a party and know for sure that he’s in love with her if that’s how she feels about him._

_Now I’d better get to the other stuff. You won’t have forgotten what I said about your family. My opinions about them are mine alone and, while I mentioned them in relation to what I thought might be between you and I, that thinking applied to my handling of Wanda and Vision’s relationship as well, since he’s also a Stark. I’m not a fan of your father. This isn’t going to be nice for you to read, so I figured I’d at least make it quick. I don’t like his arrogance, his flashiness, or his constant demands for attention. Your brother, Harley, rubs me the wrong way because he seems like a junior Tony Stark, and I think his influence on your little sister is going to be destructive, if it hasn’t been already. My real issue with your father is how fortunate he is. People are so sympathetic to him because of his injury, but I look at him and see a man who has everything. It’s not the money I’m jealous of. He lost some of you in the first Snap (don’t be weirded out that I know―you’re all fucking famous and you know it), but then he got you all back in the second. It’s hard not to meet the man who made that happen and not―_ Her pen skated across the page a little here. Peter wonders if she started crying, though there aren’t any marks. Probably turned her head if she did. ― _want to say, “What about my family? Where are they? Why don’t I get them back when you get to have yours?” When I see all of you together, you with your family, I think those things and, in those moments, I hate your father. I didn’t feel that way when you and Vision stayed at the Park with us though. Maybe this is more insulting than it is flattering, but I think you two are different from him in good ways. I thought you deserved an explanation for my aversion, though you might be pissed off at me all over again._

_Moving on. You brought up Brad’s name when we talked and you were right about that―he and I spoke ages ago when we realized we were both concerned about Wanda and, together, encouraged her to leave the restaurant for a while and come back to NYC. Once we got here, we kept on her; every time she thought about going back, we talked her out of it. It’s painful to admit, but that included using some of the arguments that I stated earlier regarding my certainty of Vision’s disinterest. None of what I said was enough, so, yes, it was Brad who put the final nail in the coffin. They’re close, you know? It turned out that all he really had to add was that he didn’t like Vision. Coming from her brother, that carried a lot of weight. Wanda’s all about putting family before anything else. So, Brad’s lukewarm feelings combined with my rationale (something Wanda tends to trust above her own) were more than enough to convince her that Vision wasn’t the one for her. Agreeing with that, she was way less interested in traveling back Upstate._

_At least all of that was honest. As concerns Vision, I know more now, but I believed everything I told Wanda at the time, and you know Brad was telling the truth because, as I think you can probably guess, he’s a dick. He never likes anybody, so we believed him when he said he didn’t like Vision. I still assume that was the truth. Where I was less honest involves Vision coming to the city. Brad knew and he told me and I should’ve told Wanda because I knew he wasn’t going to. I didn’t. She still doesn’t know he’s here. Peter, honestly, I’ve just been trying to take care of her. Wanda was hurting as much as I can now assume Vision was and she’s been getting back to her old self lately. If you’ve been with a friend through a breakup (I know this wasn’t one, but it was close), you know how you have to protect them from themselves sometimes, keep them away from their ex, and let them heal. She’s not there yet and I thought, if she ran into Vision, nothing would’ve changed. He’d still be a bad choice for her and she’d be hurt all over again. I know Wanda and the way she would’ve forgiven him every sleepless night she’s had on sight. Before you and I spoke, I could only see that as a bad thing. I made a mistake, but I can’t fix it now. Ned told me that you and your brother will be heading home soon, and I’m leaving too. That means neither Vision nor I would be around for Wanda, and I can’t just dump this on her and leave her without support. Besides Brad._

_If you explain any or all of this to Vision, you don’t have to tell him I’m sorry. As long as you know._

_Now, let’s talk about Liz Allan. I’ve never wanted to talk about her less than I do in this letter to you. If the universe was fair, she wouldn’t have been one of the things standing between you and me, but I guess we already know that it’s not. As you can see, this is the topic that’s significantly more personal for me. Almost none of it has anything to do with you, but you can just suck it up because I explained the thing you were most concerned about first. Sorry. I don’t know how I’m going to give you this letter. Another thing I don’t know is everything Liz said to you, so I’ll be thorough and you can see how our stories line up, keeping in mind that mine’s the truth. (I know, you have no reason to believe that yet if you didn’t already believe it when we spoke.)_

_Our moms were friends first. Liz’s had her and when I was born two years later, there was a friendship already waiting for me. I bet she said my parents preferred her over me, their own child, but that isn’t true, or if it is, then hers were the same about me. The six of us felt like an extended family. Liz and I grew up together and the age difference didn’t matter that much. We went to the same school, hung out at each other’s homes, went on family vacations to my parents’ cottage, just did everything together. When she started high school, I was worried about the gap finally coming between us, but she smoothed the way for me instead. She looked out for me. Instead of abandoning me when I started at her high school, she was like a big sister. I don’t have any siblings, I don’t know if you know that. The following year―when I was a sophomore and she was a senior, just as I was starting to feel secure about our friendship again―Liz’s father was arrested._

_Here’s where I would guess she got a little stingy with the details. Her dad, Adrian Toomes (I’m giving you his name so you can look him up if you want to check anything I’m telling you), ended up being sent to prison for retrofitting and selling weapons that he made using alien tech recovered from the 2012 attack on NYC. Most of what I know comes from what I overheard my mom talking about at the time, either with my dad or with Liz’s mom. She called Adrian’s claim that he was doing it for his family bullshit. Go ahead and assume that I agree; you know how I feel about other men who’ve profited off weapon sales. When Liz’s mom decided that the best thing for both of them was to put distance between her husband’s choices and a future for themselves where she wouldn’t be questioned at work while Liz was taunted at school, my parents supported her. Without Adrian’s income from illegal weapon sales (though his family was under the impression that it had all been earned through legitimate cleanup and salvaging work), they needed the money to go as far as they wanted to, which was all the way across the country to Oregon. My parents gave them a loan. A lump sum that they’d follow with extra payments every other month. It was always understood that Liz’s mom would repay it. There wasn’t any pressure to do it by a certain date or threats of accruing interest. It was actually Liz’s mom who insisted on paying the money back once the two of them were on their feet. So, we were all still on good terms when we said goodbye. I remember what it felt like when Liz and I hugged for the last time. That’s one memory it would probably be healthier to let go, but. A lot of different things can break your heart._

_Peter, I’m tired._ Peter jolts a little. Suddenly, it’s like Michelle’s speaking right to him. _It’s late, but that’s not why. This next part’s hard._

_My parents were flying home. I was in my last year of high school, they’d had to go away on a short work trip, and that circular spaceship showed up over NYC, so they were coming home to me. Then, we were all gone. You remember how it was. And they never came home._

_Liz and her mom survived the Snap, but her mom died anyway during those five years. Some medical thing that Liz and I aren’t close enough to talk about. Maybe a kinder person would make excuses for her, in her early twenties with no mom, a dad in jail, and the world what it was, but she wasn’t the only fucking person trying to survive then, or after the Second Snap. Liz left university (the education system mostly fell apart for a while anyway) and she needed money. I don’t know if she tried anything else first, but what she decided on was cashing forged cheques. The banks were completely fucked up, so she wasn’t getting the bimonthly payments my parents had set up for her and her mom. (I have to mention here that I don’t think she had any right to them at that time even if they’d been showing up on schedule. My parents and I were all gone then. I’m not sure how the law would treat that scenario, but I see it as theft before she ever started writing those phony cheques.)_

_When I came back in the Second Snap, I had my parents’ deaths to deal with (still working on that) and all the shitty, painful practicalities that go along with death. One of those was going through their finances. It was pretty fucking easy to spot what Liz had done and before I could track her down―though I was in the process―she called me. You’ve met one of my aunts, so you know I have other family, but before I uncovered evidence of the money she’d taken, Liz had felt like the closest person I had left. Despite the cheques, I was so relieved that she was ok that for a few minutes, I really thought it was a misunderstanding that we could work out. But she asked for more money. I guess she assumed that I could get things rolling for her again because by then she relied on it. It wasn’t a nice conversation after that. I told her that what she’d done was stealing and she argued that it was an investment. That was when I found out she hadn’t just been surviving, she’d been restarting her dad’s shady weapons business. There was even more alien technology left behind in 2018 and 2023 than there had been in 2012. All of that shit was bound to what had happened to the people I loved, and the people other people had loved, and the fact that she was trying to profit from it made me sick. I bet she didn’t tell you any of that when you saw some of her more benign projects that day in Albany._

_I told Liz to go to hell. I didn’t want to fight her in court to try to get that money back. I’d really rather have never seen her face again. The phone call didn’t get rid of her though. When I didn’t cave to her, she approached Monica, my cousin. They’d met several times while Liz and I were growing up and I assume it was the combination of their slight acquaintance and her determination to go around me to get what she wanted (she was obsessed with the business idea―obsessed) that made her reach out to Monica. Instead of money, Liz requested access to military tech. She really thought there was a world in which Monica would, I don’t know, illegally sneak her information and hardware. I’m sure there are people who remain in the government who would love to broker a deal with someone willing to quietly design weapons for a pricey retainer ( ~~your father could probably name a few~~ sorry), but let me tell you, my cousin is not on their side. Just asking was enough out of character for Liz that Monica called me before she did anything. I stopped my former best friend a second time and told her she should put some of that weapon-building brain of hers towards staying out of trouble and the fuck away from me and the people I care about._

_That was the last time she was on my radar until Albany, when she met―and lied extensively, I can only imagine―to you. You can probably put this next part together yourself, but I’ll spell it out so there’s no confusion. There are a million innocent reasons for Liz to be attracted to you, but it comes down to this not-so-innocent one: you’re a Stark. Your family legacy is innovation through technology and a hell of a lot of that is tied to weapons. The appeal there, from what I know for certain of Liz’s perspective and goals, is obvious._

_I think that’s everything there is between us. Is it more or less than you thought? I can’t tell you how hard I’m hoping that you’ll believe me. I have no reason to lie, but you seemed pretty determined to hate me up there on that roof, so maybe you won’t think any of this is true. If you do believe me about Liz, the main thing I want is for you to not be hard on yourself for letting her get close to you. Don’t be hard on me either, since I’m the one who went through all of the bad shit so you could get her at her sweetest and most manipulative, but go easy on yourself for getting drawn in. It’s dangerous that she can be as likable now as she was before, especially to somebody like you, who would have no reason to expect her ulterior motives._

_I couldn’t get into all of this last night, I was focused on myself, and I hope it’s not too late to tell you now. (Also, I’ll be so fucking mad at you if I ever find out you tossed this letter without reading it after I spent all this time getting a cramp in my hand.) If you need corroboration for what I said, call Carol. She can put you in touch with her daughter, Monica, who didn’t experience all of Liz’s lying and stealing firsthand, but was there at the end where my connection to Liz concluded. I know you trust my aunt. You can trust my cousin too._

_Please, please, please have read this. Beyond that, Peter, take care._

_Michelle_

Peter exhales when he gets to the end, then carefully fits the two pages together again so he can fold them and slide them back into the envelope. When he turns it over, there’s his name. His name’s on the envelope. ‘Peter,’ in Michelle’s writing. It shows a level of care that he can’t… he doesn’t know what to… He moves his thumb gently across the soft indents she made and stares at the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 


	18. Reading Comprehension

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Of neither Darcy nor Wickham could she think, without feeling that she had been blind, partial, prejudiced, absurd." - _Pride and Prejudice_ , ch. 36

He didn’t see her and think, _here she comes to convince me to love her back_. There wasn’t time to make any assumptions between her stepping onto the roof and handing him the letter. Still, Peter read everything Michelle wrote like he was looking for something, racing ahead, then doubling back when his gaze tripped over a less legible word. He feels all kinds of things. Some of them are familiar, but others are emotions that seized up or rusted over; accessing them again after he shut parts of himself off is jarring and painful, though he also feels more alert afterwards.

The one feeling that lingered throughout his first read-through was amazement that Michelle thought there was any way in hell that she could just _apologize_ for all that stuff. As if that would mean anything. Peter wasn’t exactly prepared to hear her out, but he read the letter all the same, so maybe that proves the opposite. What she wrote about their time at the Park irritates him all over again as he restlessly extracts the letter from the envelope and scans back over that section. All the shit she said about Vision―about not understanding that he actually has feelings, or whatever―can’t be true. She’s been around him, talked to him, seen him with Wanda. It’s impossible, Peter decides, that anyone with half a brain wouldn’t recognize that Vision behaves and reacts more or less the same as any human. Michelle’s too intelligent, and therefore too aware, to so severely misunderstand him.

Her other criticisms are equally infuriating (and embarrassing). He can’t believe anybody would say those things about his dad, or if they did, that they would say them to Peter directly. Ok, it might not all be off-base, but the part where she laid the blame for her parents’ deaths on Tony _is_. Does Michelle think his dad doesn’t feel guilty? Peter knows that, every day, Tony’s living with the deaths of the people he couldn’t save. So is Peter. So are Vision and Nebula and the rest of them. That guilt doesn’t go away, Tony just pushes it behind his public persona sometimes. While that version of himself may be arrogant and attention-seeking, it’s also one of the few selves Peter’s dad can inhabit to remember what being Tony Stark is supposed to look like. If Harley’s growing up to be like him, if Morgan is, then Peter doesn’t see what the goddamn issue is. They’re modeling themselves on a survivor. It’s Michelle’s fucking problem if she doesn’t possess enough empathy to get that.

Peter pauses to breathe. He feels a confusing combination of awkwardness and anger at the way she tore into his family while requesting sympathy for hers. It’s possible she didn’t make the request _blatantly_ , but he feels it, regardless, and it’s a bitter, sick sensation to find himself tilting towards compassion when she didn’t even apologize for what her biases did to Vision.

Rereading the rest of Michelle’s letter, about Liz Allan, is kind of a relief. Not so personal. Peter actually remembers where he is for the first time. He looks around, makes sure he has both sheets of paper and the envelope, and goes to sit down.

It reads a lot like what Liz told him. For comprehension purposes, that’s great; for continuing to believe Liz, it’s... troubling. All the key markers from her story are here―Liz and Michelle grow up together, Liz’s dad goes to prison, Michelle’s family helps Liz and her mom out financially when they move across the country. But there are pieces in there that Liz didn’t mention, though they seem too specific and fit too well to be lies. Like the fact that her dad’s crime involved distributing dangerous, illegal weaponry. Peter doesn’t blame Liz for not wanting to disclose that to him though; whatever her dad did isn’t a reflection of her character. On the other hand, it’s not only these minor elements. There are all the messy details of what Michelle claims happened after she refused to give Liz any more money. Peter’s getting worked up again at the thought of someone deceiving him. The worst thing is that he thinks it might not be Michelle. Liz taking advantage of the Joneses like that is awful, and then trying to go behind Michelle’s back to manipulate her cousin? Despicable. It would be simpler for him if he could write Michelle’s side of the story off as one long lie, but... Peter can’t just put the information back where he found it and pretend that he never had. It wouldn’t be right, wouldn’t be him.

The sun’s nearly overhead now. Peter didn’t notice his ears getting cold in the open air, but now he feels them warming up. He touches the top of his head. His hair’s hot. He wonders if the building’s management has ever considered putting solar panels up here. They’d get a lot of direct sun. His brain needs a break, so Peter tips his head back, closes his eyes, and thinks about photovoltaics while the sun makes the inside of his eyelids glow bright orange.

It’s too hard to relax. With a heavy sigh, he concentrates on the second page of Michelle’s letter again, flipping it back and forth to skim either side. There’s no spot where she admits it’s all a sick joke, a grudge against Liz that’s been carried too far. It’s clear that they felt the same about their shared childhood; both, from what Peter can remember, describe their relationship as being like sisters, their two families more like one big one. In a way, Michelle and Liz are backing each other up, even now. They’re corroborating each other’s stories. Though really, Peter supposes, it’s just one story, and as nice as the beginning sounds, as well as it aligns, pain, betrayal, and deception inevitably come into it. Everything hinges on the agreement between Michelle’s parents and Liz’s mom. He’s holding up Liz’s certainty that the Joneses wanted her taken care of against Michelle’s account that Liz stole from her family over and over in the years between the Snaps. Liz said Michelle cut her off. Michelle wrote that Liz was never entitled to that money in the first place. It should be Peter’s mom looking at this, not him. Pepper knows about extenuating circumstances and finances and what does and does not constitute a binding contract. _Ugh_!

Peter tears his gaze away from the page again. He can hear pigeons. Maybe sheltering on a window ledge of this building, maybe on one down the street. He’d need to retrain his hearing if he stayed here, relearn standard city distances―like a block, or the stretch between one subway entrance and the next.

He stares at the letter without reading. Who the hell is he supposed to believe? It’s a dumb question at this point. Peter knows the answer. If he admits to himself that Michelle’s telling the truth in any part of this story, then he needs to admit that it’s likely _all_ true. He doesn’t think she’d bother giving him the same story she knew Liz had already told him if she was only going to change a couple of insignificant details.

What’s bothering Peter now is... Peter. He’s confronting how unwilling he is to give Michelle any credit, or to recognize Liz as the one at fault. Why does he feel so loyal to Liz? Loyal enough to ignore evidence and hang onto this hostility for Michelle that makes him feel like shit! He’s unfamiliar to himself. He and Liz were only close (and not _that_ close) for about a month. Unlike Harley, he didn’t follow her on social media, didn’t have some kind of pre-existing, one-sided acquaintanceship with her before they met in person. It’s strange to remember that day in Albany, now that he knows Liz was there looking for parts in service of the career she might not have had if her life hadn’t been so heavily influenced by Michelle’s parents, and then Michelle herself. Peter didn’t know. Really, he knew so little about Liz for such a long time, besides the possibly practiced tale she told. The idea of digging into her history never crossed his mind. Most of the people who’ve been in his life the last few years are either Stark Industries contacts or Avengers; Peter has no interest in learning more about the first and no interest in bothering the second for details. He thinks of a hero’s past as an elusive tar―it leaves a sticky residue everywhere, clues and unfinished sentences, but it’s so difficult to scrape it all together and examine it as a single mass. Difficult and, usually, inadvisable. Between that and his own unresolved relationship with the old days, Peter doesn’t typically seek out the past.

He has to let himself off the hook a little now, when it becomes tempting to blame himself for not scrutinizing Liz more closely, because really, there was nothing overtly deceitful about her. She was sweet. Didn’t asking too many questions or unsettle him with frequent silences. Those traits aren’t well-matched against Michelle’s accusations though. Sweetness doesn’t stand up to serial theft. Peter can’t think of anything he observed about Liz (not what she said to him, since that can no longer be trusted) that does. It’s easy to picture the gentle expression in her eyes and her encouraging smile, hear her rippling laugh and soft voice, but he’s struggling to think of a piece of evidence with more heft. Those qualities did enough for Liz without her needing to prove herself. Weren’t they sufficient to gain the Starks’ friendship? Peter’s respect and attraction?

Raising the letter, Peter gives it another shot, but his gaze lands on the paragraph about Monica. If Monica did what Liz asked of her, it would’ve not only jeopardized her career in the military―a family legacy―but certainly landed Monica in jail as well. The letter ends with Michelle inviting him to ask Carol Danvers about this, so he assumes Monica told her mother what happened, or if she didn’t, Michelle did. She’s right that Peter trusts Carol. They had each other’s back against Thanos. That’s the kind of thing that forges a bond. He would never doubt her, which makes it tempting to call her up, but Michelle must realize that, _and_ understand it’d be a stupid thing to dare him to test if she was lying. Which isn’t the first internal argument Peter’s had with himself that concludes that Michelle’s telling the truth.

He’s aware that Michelle didn’t really want to tell him any of this. He pushed her and this letter is how she defended herself. But why did Liz share this stuff in the first place? Peter isn’t nosy, so why would they have discussed her difficult past during their very first conversation alone? That doesn’t make sense. At the time, he was just so eager to hear everything she had to say, thrilled that he was able to edge his brother out of the picture long enough to hold Liz’s full attention. He guesses it was also because of Harley that Liz seemed closer than a stranger; he talked about her and tried to monopolize her, artificially raising her importance. When she sat _just_ with Peter, and spoke _just_ to Peter, Peter felt like he’d won.

Another thing Liz told him was that she wasn’t going to actively avoid Michelle. She called it a ‘childish game,’ Peter recalls. Yet, Liz _did_ avoid her at the first opportunity―the Park’s open house. She specifically said that her history with Michelle wasn’t a secret, but who else did she tell besides him? No one, as far as he knows. Not until Michelle and the Maximoffs moved back to NYC. Then, Liz divulged it to Peter’s whole freaking family! Peter didn’t notice at the time. What a thing for her to do, waiting for Michelle to leave the area and then badmouthing her when she couldn’t defend herself. That wasn’t bravely sharing a story of survival, it was being a coward. What happened to Liz’s vow to not slander Michelle out of respect for her parents? Seems to Peter as though that went straight out the window for no better reason than Liz getting the opportunity to talk shit.

Would she have done that to him if they dated and broke up? Would she do that to the Pennsylvanian pilot? God, is she just seeing that guy to get an in at the airline he works for? Does she have a plan to talk him into helping her smuggle her illegal tech? Peter’s conjecturing now and maybe these are wild questions, but he can’t dismiss them as easily as he would’ve before reading Michelle’s letter. Michelle, who pointed out Peter’s obvious appeal to Liz, from a mercenary perspective. Did Liz like him at all? Was any of it genuine? He’s really glad they never kissed. That would’ve messed with his head even more.

But the remainder of the part of his brain focused on Liz is surprisingly unmessy, when Peter probes around in his thoughts. The tug of war over who to believe―Liz or Michelle―was won decisively in the last... minutes? Hour? How long has he been up here? Anyway, when he considers things like her timing around exposing Michelle’s supposed mistreatment of her, the way Liz dropped everything to get coffee with the Starks (even though they’d just met, even though she’d just come into Albany on business), how she went from spending time with Peter to being in a full-on relationship with that pilot when Peter didn’t hurry up and make a move... Liz did enough, all on her own, to seem suspicious, had Peter been paying attention.

Condemning Liz means exonerating Michelle. It has to. When Peter had Vision ask Wanda about it on the night of the open house, Wanda stood with her friend. Described Michelle as valuing honesty and justice. Really, if Peter sets the personal biases he’s fanned against Michelle aside, can he think of any instance of her acting in a way that contradicts Wanda? Maybe Peter and Michelle aren’t friends, maybe most of their history involves them not even being _nice_ to each other, but he can’t deny that she became familiar to him, when he spent time with her for days in a row, and that there was nothing in what he saw to prove Wanda wrong. And Wanda and himself aren’t the only people Peter has to consider. There’s Brad, who―asshole that he is―seemed desperate for Michelle’s attention; in Peter’s experience, it’s the biggest dickheads who try that hard to attach themselves to something or someone good, to balance out their own dickheadedness. For all the bad stuff she said, there’s Liz, because of course, she _also_ said that she and Michelle had been like sisters. There are Michelle’s legal and biological family members to take into account too. Carol’s close with her niece and being around the two of them reminded Peter of his bond with May. Peter has zero reason to think badly of Carol’s daughter and knows that Michelle emails Monica, and that they visit each other when their schedules allow.

It’s impossible that Michelle, the most essential part of her, is anything like what Liz tried to make Peter believe.

He’s a fucking idiot: confirmed. He’s been more or less as wrong as he possibly could’ve been about both Liz and Michelle. Willfully ignorant enough to stay loyal to the former and so pointlessly biased―no, _prejudiced_ ―against the latter.

“Ugh,” he groans into his hand. “Peter, you moron. You’re supposed to be a genius.”

It’s official, he’s never doubting Vision again. His brother wasn’t quick to judge Michelle, and he defended her when Peter was. Vision understood Wanda’s core goodness and extrapolated to assume that she’d be best friends with someone fundamentally similar to herself, if _slightly_ less friendly to new people. That’s what Peter should’ve done, if he had any common sense. But nope, apparently, he was fresh out at the time. (And if ‘the time’ lasted the better part of three months, he could let that slide and cut himself a little bit of slack.) It’s like he’s been in love with Michelle― _that_ level of not thinking straight. It would’ve been better if he did love her. Then, all his mistakes would’ve been selfless instead of selfish. He’s surprised she didn’t point that out during her character study of his dad.

Liz singled him out while Michelle rejected his offer to dance at the benefit. That’s what this comes down to. Looking at it like that, Peter’s incredibly embarrassed. The last time he saw somebody make hard and fast decisions of loyalty based on who said ‘yes’ to them and who said ‘no’ was when Morgan was a toddler. ‘Childish games,’ he reflects. He’s the one who’s behaved like a child. Him. The boy superhero who went off to war and grew up too fast.

Thinking about Morgan leads to thinking about Harley, then Peter’s other brother, Vision. He still doesn’t feel good about what Michelle did to Vision and Wanda and he’s ashamed of his brief hesitation before picking up the first page of the letter to reread the section where she mentions her interference. Fuck. Is this the same thing it said before? Did she get some kind of special spy paper or pen from Fury and use those? That was a classic ‘60s spy move, wasn’t it? Like in those really old James Bond movies? This is totally the kind of thing one of those villains would do. Except Peter’s already established that Michelle isn’t a devious bad guy. The only interpretation left is that he didn’t understand this part of the letter the first time through. Michelle made it clear that she didn’t think Vision was romantically interested in Wanda. Even Ned, who’s known Vision for his entire existence, said that Vision needed to be more obvious about his feelings. So Peter has to concede that point and acknowledge that, for someone unfamiliar with Vision, Michelle actually read him pretty well; friendly and polite, not making the first move to hold Wanda’s arm or hand (because, Peter knows, he often avoids physical contact out of a fear of being treated as ‘other’)―all of that’s true. She didn’t pick up on his deeper feelings, but very few people do.

Trying hard not to react defensively, Peter scans Michelle’s paragraph about his family. On his last read-through, he started having conflicting feelings. This time, it’s easier to access the compassion he realizes he always should have felt. If he wasn’t a Stark, if he was almost anybody else on earth, would he blame the Avengers for what he might have lost? Would he blame Tony Stark? Would he, if invited to Tony’s compound and surrounded by rich men and expensive wine and fucking _waltzing_ , see the grinning billionaire at the center of it all and feel forgiveness? There’s a sharp prickle inside Peter’s nose as his eyes well up. God, her _parents_. The First Snap killed her and the Second Snap orphaned her and he has no right to try to guess which is worse. He wipes the falling tears with his fingers, his runny nose with the back of his hand, and keeps reading. He has to. He owes it to her.

She wrote that he and Vision are different from Tony, ‘in good ways.’ That felt like an insult the first time, but when Peter considers it again, after gaining a better sense of her loss, he gets how it’s a compliment. That in spite of being part of something that ruined Michelle’s life, she gave the two of them a chance. That’s not some cheap shot; it’s a huge kindness, maybe more than Peter would’ve been capable of. Beyond all of that, she fell in love with him.

Peter wanders the roof for another half-hour or so, until he’s sure these revelations are going to stick, that he can’t possibly have misunderstood, that he won’t confuse things this badly again. Not ever. Michelle might have been slightly off about Vision, but boy, she sure read the hell out of Peter last night. No more seeing things in black and white―that’s what he’s going to do for both of them.

He goes down to Ned’s apartment because he really has to pee. While he’s in the bathroom, he does his best to wipe the stupefied look off his face. His efforts are semi-successful. He can’t do anything about the redness of his eyes from crying, but he doesn’t really want to hide that anyway. Checking the time, he figures he can head over to Ned’s office. He’ll hang out with his best bud and maybe even give Flash some of the usable content the guy’s been practically begging him for. When he arrives, Ned informs him that he just missed Carol and Michelle. Peter decides that’s a good thing. He wouldn’t know how to talk to Michelle right now, and he doesn’t really want to bumblingly figure it out in front of her aunt.

* * *

It’s finally Friday on one of the longest weeks Peter’s experienced in his life. Michelle and Carol are leaving today, he knows. Going early to beat the traffic. He doesn’t need to get up until after seven, but here he is, awake at quarter-after-five, lying on his back with a funny ache in his chest as he pictures them packing up their stuff and hugging Fury goodbye. (If Fury hugs. Peter doesn’t know, this is just how the scenario plays out in his head.) Flash’ll be over there; he eagerly volunteered to represent himself, Ned, and Peter at Carol and Michelle’s send-off before Fury could ban him. What a weird dude.

It’s quiet in the guest room that’s been his for nearly two weeks. Peter shifts onto his side and goes back to sleep.

When he gets up at the regular time, he showers, dresses, then wanders into the kitchen to find Ned and Flash talking. They’ve been doing that a while. Peter had to keep his head directly under the showerhead to drown out Flash’ voice as much as possible. He wasn’t at Fury’s building that long―says something about a malfunction with the door keeping him locked out for almost ten minutes (Peter suspects Fury had something to do with the ‘malfunction’)―but he talks about it for _ages_. Peter guesses this is why Flash is so good at coming up with such a volume of content for his videos and social media. He’s kind of grateful for those things now, since they’re an ideal outlet for somebody who loves to hear himself talk. It’d be great to be able to skip ahead (or skip entirely) in Flash’s real-life diatribes. Even with going back to sleep, it’s too early for all of this.

Finally, he gets to the point. Well, the point that concerns Peter; everything that comes out of Flash’s mouth is considered vital information by its speaker. The point is that Fury’s asked them over for lunch. Peter doesn’t know if this means a standard, hour-long, working lunch, or if Flash and Ned’s schedules will be wiped for the rest of the afternoon in favour of prioritizing Fury’s demands. Whatever. He’s just the tagalong. Anyway, this will be the last time he sees Fury (hopefully for a very long time) before leaving tomorrow and finally making for home with his brother.

Flash is almost out the door of Ned’s apartment when Peter hears himself blurt out a question that clearly surprises all three of them: “How was Michelle?”

Opening his mouth to respond, Flash is halted by Ned’s warning finger. Ned gives his colleague a hell of a lot of leeway, but even his patience has limits before 8am.

“Keep it short, Flash,” Ned tells him. “I have a couple things to finish at work before we go to Fury’s, so I don’t want to be late.”

Flash―annoyed, curbed―grips the doorknob and looks at Peter.

“Tired,” he says, and goes out.

Ned clearly wants to ask Peter what his question was about―he’s Peter’s guy in the chair and Peter knows that Ned knows something’s been up the past couple of days―but he doesn’t bug him. Well, he stares at him, until Peter, not meeting his eye, shakes his head. Ned shrugs and drops what he was too nice to ever really bring up.

Flash’s word shouldn’t cling to the front of Peter’s mind the way it does, stuck there as he and Ned eat breakfast together on the couch in front of _The Jetsons_ , but ‘tired’ sticks as though he targeted it with his web-shooters. Was Flash just being sarcastic? Like, ‘Dumb question, Stark. It was five-thirty in the morning. Everybody’s tired at five-thirty in the morning.’ And was Michelle really just tired from getting up and heading out of the city early, or was it something else? Did she sleep well last night? Did she sleep at all, or was she feeling too worried and exposed after giving him that letter? Or, is she tired of being here? Peter knows how the city can exhaust a person, but he wonders if maybe it’s him Michelle’s tired of being around. He did reject her, and then she had to hang around for another 30ish hours with him living and working nearby.

What if he hadn’t said no, but agreed to go out with her? That’s what Peter thinks about on the way to Ned’s office and whenever he has a second for contemplation over the course of the morning (Flash is relentless about wringing the last few drops of usefulness out of his guest). He’s not asking the question for his own sake, or for Michelle’s, but because he can’t think about seeing Fury without hypothesizing about how the man would’ve reacted to Peter dating his niece. The son of the man Fury came into frequent, if allied, conflict with. The former Avenger who resists being put back into commission every time Fury proposes it with varying levels of subtlety. Fury would’ve hated it, which Peter finds hilarious. By the time he, Ned, and Flash show up on the man’s doorstep, he remembers to wipe the amusement off his face. He’s pretty bad at lying, so he has to look innocent enough that Fury never asks.

It’s difficult for Peter when Carol and Michelle’s departure from Tribeca is literally the first thing Fury talks about. He hasn’t fully adjusted to Carol’s absence, Peter can tell. Maria Hill’s around, popping in occasionally to communicate with Fury, mainly in cryptic looks, but those two don’t have the same dynamic as Fury did with Carol. Whatever sillier side of Fury they saw is gone; currently, he seems to be at a stage where he’s actively missing his pseudo-sister, waiting for somebody to call him on his dramatics. Doesn’t mean he appreciates Flash pointing out his loss.

“Of course I miss having her around,” Fury says gruffly. “Carol Danvers is an invaluable member of my team and the amount of intelligence she gathers in a single week up there―” He jerks a finger towards the ceiling and Peter assumes he means space. “―is more than what anybody on this planet gives me in a year. Natural to miss her.”

“Of course,” Flash hurriedly agrees. Fury doesn’t need his contribution to continue. Flash’s words just happen to fill the gap where Fury pauses in thought.

“You find me somebody who knows what it’s like to suffer because people aren’t around better than I do and you can have my damn job,” Fury challenges. “You can’t operate an efficient team without good, reliable communication. It’s always easier when an agent, or whoever, checks in in-person. No confusion. No leaks. I’m sorry for _them_ , having to leave! They need me as much as I need them.”

“Definitely,” Flash says brightly.

“And so what if I play favourites with Carol? I’ve known her a long damn time. Known Michelle since she was just a kid. Carol gets used to leaving―it’s because she has a tougher time saying goodbye to her wife, I know _that_ ―but I just about had to pry Michelle’s fingers from the door to get her out of here. She’s never wanted to stay that badly before.”

Peter has no idea what his face is doing because the brain that pulls the strings is a little tangled up at the moment. He tries a bland nod. That’ll make it look like he believes Fury’s the person Michelle’s sorry to leave, right?

Over lunch, Fury starts focusing on the people in front of him instead of the ones who left that morning. That’s bad news for Peter, who’s been doing his best to be invisible. Sadly, not one of the traits that spider gave him. Fury tells Peter he doesn’t look well. Peter panics, quickly deciding to plead a bad night’s sleep, but Fury decides to explain it himself.

“Looks like this one’s not too eager to leave either,” he observes with a chuckle (quickly stifled when Fury recalls that he only does that kind of thing when Carol’s here). He clears his throat. “You haven’t been here that long. I’m sure Flash could still make use of you.”

Peter has an elated feeling that Ned kicks Flash under the table to stop him from chiming in.

“Two weeks,” Peter says for himself.

“Like I said,” Fury replies, giving him a hard look, “not that long. Call Pepper and say there’s been a change of plans. She’s adaptable. I think Ned likes having you around.”

Not fair, trying to get Peter’s best friend on his side. Peter _knows_ Ned likes having him around, but neither of them are down with their friendship being used as a bargaining chip to extend Peter’s stay. Especially since Fury only wants him here to work for him, not so he has more time to watch cartoons with Ned.

“Actually, I have to go first thing tomorrow,” Peter informs him.

“What? Is there some kind of party emergency at the compound? Tony needs your help writing his next speech?”

“No, he handles that stuff pretty well on his own. It’s my mom who set the new date for me to come home after the first time I decided to stay longer.”

“Pepper? Pepper doesn’t need you home right away. She could run Stark Industries by herself with her eyes closed. One of the most competent people I’ve ever met. Maybe one of the few people who could do _my_ job. Though you know you’ve got first refusal,” he adds to Hill, who gives him a wry smile on her way out of the room.

“It’s actually just because I’m her son and she misses me,” Peter says.

Fury rolls his eyes (eye―oops, thinks Peter) and seems to accept it. Peter might not cause a scene like his dad would, but he has his mother’s more understated stubbornness.

“Fine. You want a jet? Armoured car?”

“Uh, I think I’ll just take the bus.”

“The bus.” It’s a judgement, not a question.

“Yeah, I took a Greyhound down.”

“Spider-Man took a Greyhound,” Fury repeats, and Peter doesn’t bother correcting him that he isn’t really Spider-Man anymore. “Tony Stark’s kid took a Greyhound.”

He’s pretty sure the mockery is rhetorical, so he ignores it. Regardless, Fury tries repeatedly to tempt him into using one of the transports at his disposal; Peter resists. Not only would it be overkill (he’s going across the state, not the country or the _world_ ), but it would probably be seen, by Fury, as a favour. Peter doesn’t want to owe him anything. If Fury offered to drive him home himself in his own car, Peter would still say no to avoid owing him the gas money. This is not a man to be indebted to.

Instead of agreeing, Peter keeps his mouth clamped shut and responds only in nods and shakes of his head―mainly the second thing. Fury wonders aloud how Peter packs his weapons and doesn’t seem to believe that he didn’t bring any, so he gives him tips. Also pointers on the six most efficient ways to exit a coach bus and a verbal crash course on the unique challenges of fighting in the aisle of a moving vehicle. Peter can’t offer him much in exchange for all of this unsolicited training, but he does give into a handshake when Fury’s hand comes towards him at the end of their visit. Hill returns with impeccable timing and also shakes Peter’s hand. And that’s it. Peter, Flash, and Ned are out of there, with only the feeling of Fury’s heavy stare to follow them.

Flash heads up to Midtown―apparently, it’s an early start to the weekend after all―and Peter has an easy time talking Ned into getting ice cream, despite the thin snow starting to fall. They eat outside and walk over to Columbus Park. He just feels like celebrating. Their time together, overcoming a lot of personal baggage to make the trip down, and being free of Fury’s expectations. Peter’s trying really hard to live his own life and he wants to think he did a good job of fending Fury off. He still believes in helping people, but doesn’t want to go from one type of service to another. It’s felt really good, being here with Ned, and actually functioning in the world, as himself. Home is great and yet... he feels a little useless there. While his family are the people who know him to the depths of his Peter-ness, they’re also tied to the whole history of his Spidey side. Coming back to New York City has been like a return to Spider-Man’s turf, made on shaky giraffe legs that he found were able to bear his weight. It’d just be nice to go somewhere he could be only Peter. Luckily, he feels like he’s getting closer to that place―not in a physical sense, but, like, _emotionally_.

Fury’s gaze was too intense for Peter to zone out and think about anything else while they had lunch with him, but after leaving, and after ice cream, his mind’s back on Michelle’s letter. He reads it again too―later that evening, alone in Ned’s guest room―which is easy because he hasn’t packed any of his stuff yet. He almost has it memorized. Not on purpose, he’s just spent so much time with it, analyzing it the way Fury wanted him to analyze schematics. The way Michelle said certain things still pisses him off, enough to quit reading for minutes at a time and actually pack, but when he remembers how harsh he was to her the other night on the roof, he’s only pissed at himself. When that dissipates, there are a few calm moments where all Peter feels is sympathy for the losses she keeps so carefully behind this _wall_ that she has. Soon after, the amazement arrives, at the fact of Michelle being in love with him.

Although that night was an absolute catastrophe, he doesn’t regret turning her down. He doesn’t even necessarily want to run into her, which is convenient because there’s almost zero chance of that happening. It feels, to Peter, as though they’ve squared things away between them. On the surface of it, it looks like he got more closure than she did, but really, Michelle found a way to tell her side of the story. That’ll probably mean more to her than any half-baked response Peter could come up with. Besides, she’s free from all of this now. Meanwhile, he’s going back to his family with his eyes newly opened to their shortcomings, from an outsider’s perspective. He won’t be able to change them and, no matter what Michelle has to say, he isn’t sure he wants to. The Starks have settled into a life that lets them move from day to day in what feels like a forward direction. What good would it do them to dwell on the people they couldn’t save? What good has it done for Michelle? Would she be happier if Tony began displaying his survivor’s guilt instead of putting on a happy face and an expensive suit? Probably not. Peter can’t force either of them to accept or even understand the other. He can’t heal everyone’s wounds. It’s taken him long enough just to admit he’s still bleeding.

He and Vision are there, like Michelle mentioned, and maybe they can help their siblings in small ways, so the trauma of war and absence doesn’t have to define their family forever. Morgan, who was so young when Thanos was finally defeated, has a real chance and is already the most stable out of all of them. Harley’s another matter. Peter knows he hasn’t gotten over the fact that Tony refused to let him fight. Well, not just refused, because that’s never enough to stop Harley, but put him in lock-down by force so that he wouldn’t steal a suit and follow Pepper into battle. He would’ve, Peter knows. He would’ve made sure Morgan was safe first, but he would’ve come because he doesn’t separate things―staying at home and fighting for their right to exist can both have the end goal of protecting Morgan and, because Harley tends towards daredevil idiocy, he’d pick fighting. It’s what their dad would do. Countering that influence is gonna be tough.

Then there’s Vision’s heartbreak, the most recent problem. Michelle might have explained it, showing that none of it was on Wanda because she _did_ care about him, but that just makes Peter feel worse about it all, somehow. It’s like the thing that Vision lost was even better than they’d thought. Like when they were kids and Harley ‘lost’ Peter’s Lego Speeder Bike on a high shelf (being a year older ensured that Harley was _always_ taller and he was such an asshole about it) in their dad’s workshop and then, after he lost it for real because he’d accidentally set it on a still-hot power tool and melted it, it became a _Star Wars_ collector’s item.

Ok, maybe that wasn’t as bad as Vision losing Wanda, but it was a serious blow for a nine-year-old.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point, feel free to imagine Peter's brain as a tangled ball of yarn. Time for him to be heading home.


	19. Back Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Mrs Bennet rejoiced to see Jane in undiminished beauty; and more than once during dinner did Mr Bennet say voluntarily to Elizabeth, ‘I am glad you are come back, Lizzy.’" - _Pride and Prejudice_ , ch. 39

Peter’s up early on Saturday morning, the day he leaves the city, but he feels better rested than he did when he woke up early yesterday. It’s the feeling of imminent homecoming and it makes him love his surroundings even more. He’s quiet as he strips the sheets from his bed and stuffs them into the hamper; Ned doesn’t do his own laundry anymore, it’s taken care of by a service, thanks to Flash. He left out a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt that he’s worn a couple of times each, but still has one last clean t-shirt to throw on underneath. Creeping softly through the apartment because his best friend’s still asleep―by the sound of his snoring on the other side of his bedroom door―Peter grabs his coat and boots from the closet, then goes up to the roof.

It’s bitter in the cold air, but the sun is rising white-hot and he squints at the sparkling glass of the first buildings it strikes. This morning is good. If he had his web-shooters, Peter almost thinks he’d take a running start and sail off the edge of the roof, swinging east until he ran out of Manhattan and reached the East River. Wave good morning to Williamsburg. People always talk about springtime in NYC, he knows, but his favourite time in this city is dawn, any season.

When it’s late enough (and he doesn’t really have to wait long because he knows the boys are getting up early too, for his sake), Peter goes down to Flash’s. His host tells him that Ned texted and will be a few more minutes, but said they could go ahead and start having breakfast. Flash being Flash and having the wealth of Thompson Integrated Trust at his disposal, he’s had a full breakfast spread delivered for Spider-Man’s ceremonious final meal in his apartment. God, Peter’s almost fond of this guy now. What a goof.

Naturally, Flash promptly and wordily kicks off the goodbyes while Peter’s mouth is full. That’s alright. Everything’s more tolerable when your mouth is stuffed with a crêpe oozing cheese, he decides, working hard not to close his eyes to savour his food and block Flash out completely.

“Ned’s probably covered this,” Flash says, a little bashful now because, at the very last minute, he’s gone back to absolutely idolizing Peter, “but I want to say how great it’s been to have you stay with us. I’m sure he’ll say something. Has he already? I know he will.” He’s confident, in spite of not giving Peter room to answer. This really takes Peter back to his business proposal. “It’s been such an honour, Spider-Man.” Peter’s smile threatens to stretch into a cringe. “Obviously, our little building can’t compete with your family’s compound, no workshops or labs to keep you entertained, so I’m really, seriously flattered, dude, that you stayed with us for so long. I hope it’s been interesting enough for you.”

“Flash,” Peter says, swallowing his latest bite when he realizes he’s being given a chance to respond, “it’s New York. I had lots of stuff to do.” He needs to go beyond the obvious with this guy though. “Thank you, man. It’s been really great staying here. It was amazing of you to let me hang around your office and to be cool with Ned working from home sometimes so that I could see him more. There he is,” Peter adds as his best friend walks in and they do their customary handshake. (Flash watches their hands with bald longing.)

“Are you talking about how great I am? Don’t let me interrupt,” Ned says with a chuckle as he scopes out his breakfast options.

Peter’s first instinct is to tease him back, but he realizes this is an opportunity.

“You’re lucky to have this guy,” he tells Flash, pointing at Ned. “I’ve been through everything with him and he still likes me enough to schlep around the city with me, playing tourist, for two weeks. You can’t buy that. You couldn’t have found anybody better.”

Flash is beaming because Spider-Man just complimented his hiring skills. Having a Spider-Man-endorsed workforce is worth its weight in shares. It’s possible he’s already considering ways to use this to his advantage, which would also be to Ned’s advantage, and SI’s advantage, and, distantly, Peter’s. Maybe. Flash is still learning his father’s business.

“Well,” Flash says with false modesty, “in addition to Ned, I’m glad we had some interesting people to introduce you to. Getting to meet Fury is a real privilege. Every single day, I think, ‘Holy shit, I know Nick Fury.’ It takes a long time for that level of thrill to wear off.”

“Sure,” Peter agrees, keeping his expression neutral.

“I think Tony Stark’s going to be pretty jealous when you tell him how many times we were invited to Fury’s. Make sure you say it was thanks to me. And tell him how down-to-earth Fury is, like his interest in Ned fitting in at my company.” Flash gets out of his own head long enough to glance over at Ned and give him a big smile. “Whatever your future business ventures, Peter, I hope you get to work with someone you get along with as well as I get along with Ned. Ned just... completely stepped into the role. We’re always on the same page. He _gets_ it,” he insists, leaning across the table to fist-bump Ned.

Peter wants nothing more for his best friend than for that to be true. They seemed to work well together at Flash’s office; Flash is surprisingly hard-working for his surface flightiness and Ned is the most reliable person Peter knows. It’s hard saying goodbye to his best friend again―leaving him here with no impending plans to build Lego sets and play _Just Dance_ in the Leeds’s basement―but this was Ned’s choice, and he’s going to continue to respect that. Though he does look sad that Peter’s leaving, he thinks, he’s also been joking about finally being able to get some work done without Peter hanging around. He’s settling _into_ the job, not _for_ the job. He has a nice place to live and stuff to keep his brain busy. The two of them are so much alike in some ways that Peter didn’t realize how bored Ned was getting Upstate. Peter isn’t really looking for a challenge right now, especially not one that means being shoved into the deep end by Fury, but Ned was. The friends cross the hall to the other apartment and Peter sees again how at home Ned’s becoming here. He’s glad.

Flash is waiting by the elevator when Peter and Ned re-emerge, Peter carrying his bag. He already called a taxi and it pulls up to the curb just a couple of minutes after they get down to the sidewalk in front of the building. Ned yanks him into a hug that he doesn’t show any signs of immediately easing off on, so Peter, laughing, sticks his hand out to the side to shake Flash’s. Flash is going on about how he wants Peter to say hi to each of the Starks for him, to thank them again for hosting him when he was up there. Ned lets Peter go, they do their handshake for the final time this visit, and Peter claps Flash on the upper arm in thanks and to shut him up.

He’s just getting into the backseat when Flash goes, “Oh shit. Did you want me to say anything to Fury for you?”

“We just saw him last night,” Peter reminds him.

“Yeah, but, it’s _Fury_. Hmm... I’ll just tell him something about what an honour it was for you to meet him.”

“As if he’ll believe I said that,” Peter mutters to himself, flicking anxious eyes to his driver, who looks impatient to be getting underway.

“What?” Flash asks.

Peter closes the door and puts the window down halfway to respond.

“I said, ‘What a relief, thanks for doing that.’ Bye, guys!”

He reminds himself of all the indications that Ned’s happy here as the taxi drives away and he waves to his friend from the side window, and then out the back, Ned’s whole arm swinging energetically until the car turns a corner.

It wouldn’t really have bothered Peter to take public transit over to Queens, but it’s been a long visit and he just wants to sit. He pulls out his phone to text his aunt that he’s on his way over and by the time he gets there, she’s already decided that he’s staying the night. He argues that it’s still early―lots of time to get Upstate _and_ he and Vision have bus tickets. May argues that she doesn’t get to see him enough, that his dad can more than cover the cost of changing bus tickets, and then she does this look that completely guilts Peter into staying. She laughs when he tells her as much out loud and says, “Good.”

Peter’s slightly uneasy to see his brother. He has so much to tell Vision, but also so much that he thinks he’d better not say. Hearing that Wanda was serious about him before she left the neighbourhood would probably make Vision feel both better and worse, like that news did to Peter. Peter decides to tell him that afternoon, then changes his mind and sits there nervously while Vision gives him a penetrating stare. The fact that he isn’t completely sure forces Peter to acknowledge that he should wait until they’re home again to say anything. It’s all still too fresh and a little distance will help.

* * *

On Sunday, February 18th, Peter and Vision board a Greyhound bus to Albany. Vision’s quiet, in his human-est disguise, and Peter leaves his brother in peace. He falls asleep and wakes up with a crick in his neck half an hour from their destination. The snow’s gone. That’s what he notices: the jagged, grey, gritty remains scraped into the ditches and the shoulders of the highway, tucked into the curbs when they get into town. They’re a month out from spring and only the ugliest part of winter remains, resisting salt and the sun. Peter wishes it would just melt and get it over with.

He wasn’t sure who was coming to pick them up and, when they disembark and walk into the bus station, he’s surprised to see Harley and Morgan; the latter has her hat askew because Harley’s tied one end of his long scarf to a stanchion and is turning the other end like a skipping rope. Morgan’s still trying to get her timing just right when Peter picks her up from behind.

“ _Finally_ ,” Harley says, hugging them both after Peter sets Morgan down.

“What do you mean ‘finally’?” he asks. “Our bus was on time.”

“Felt like forever. You know there are faster things you could’ve taken than a bus, right?”

Peter rolls his eyes as the four of them, Vision adjusting Morgan’s hat back into place, exit the station.

“Taking a bus is normal.”

“Ah, still rebelling against the ol’ Stark privilege,” Harley says in a knowing voice, hooking an arm around his brother’s neck until Peter fights him off. “No, I get it. I’m the family expert on pining for independence.”

“You’re the family expert on―”

“Careful,” he warns Peter before he can get his comeback out. “I was going to take you and Vision out for lunch before we go home. Don’t put it in jeopardy.”

“You’re paying?”

“Well...” Harley offers a highly manipulative smile as Peter narrows his eyes at him.

“It’s not like you have anything else important to spend your money on.”

“Like a life’s calling?”

“I was thinking of a girlfriend, but even that seems a little out of reach for you,” Peter jokes.

Harley snatches the bag out of Peter’s hand before he can think to defend it and tries to swing it at his head. Morgan screams, but it’s not because she’s worried about Peter. No, she leaps onto his back, trying to take him down from behind, forever on Harley’s team. The three of them are laughing and Vision’s left to try to contain them to one side of the sidewalk in case anybody wants to walk past. When he’s able, he confiscates Peter’s bag. Morgan, apparently repentant, offers to carry it for Vision―he’s smart enough not to trust her and shakes his head. She grins, despite being foiled.

“Speaking of my possible girlfriends...” Harley says, catching his breath.

“Wait,” Peter interrupts, “let me get my make-believing hat on.” He mimes pulling something over his ears and fastening it beneath his chin. His brother smacks him in the back of the head.

“I found out Liz is leaving.”

“What?”

This is _great_ news, but the surprise of it almost stops Peter in his tracks. He has to take a couple of quick steps to get back in stride with Harley, and to avoid Morgan attempting another attack from the rear.

“Yeah, she’s getting the fuck out of Albany.” While Harley sounds disappointed, Peter’s deeply relieved. “Supposed to be heading east. Boston, I think. Maybe we could drive out there. Morgan’s never been.”

Peter doesn’t respond to his brother’s idea. If he argued, that’d be the fastest way to make Harley solidify it into a plan. He lets the topic drop, not even calling Harley out on pretending the trip would somehow be for Morgan. Sure, their sister’s eyes would probably light up in a museum full of historic harpoons (he means Morgan, though it’s easy to see the appeal for Nebula as well), but unless someone puts that thought in her head, she’s not going to start begging their parents to take her to Boston.

He’s yawning by the time they have sandwiches in front of them, crowded around a table, but Harley remains energetic.

“I have more Liz news,” he says.

“What is this, the Liz Allan newsletter?” Peter complains. Vision hands him a cup of coffee. He can’t wait to go home and sleep in his own bed.

“She broke up with that guy.”

“What guy?” Morgan wonders. Harley waves his sister off and she tries to bite his hand.

“That’s unfortunate,” Vision says, always the sympathizer. “I hope Miss Allan isn’t too hurt.”

“It was probably her that did the dumping,” Harley says consolingly. Peter just shrugs and eats his sandwich. “The guy was a pilot. What’s so impressive about a pilot? All that technology, planes basically fly themselves.”

“You ever hear that saying?” Peter wonders sarcastically. “About how people who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw rocks?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Never mind.” Peter grins to himself.

The smile falls from his face when he realizes he might’ve reacted like his brother not too long ago. Been scornful of that pilot who thought he deserved somebody as great as Liz. Probably excited when they broke up, thinking his chance had come. Now, he never wants to see her face again. He can’t believe she lied to him so easily and so frequently. If anything, if he could, he’d congratulate the pilot for ending things before Liz could make him complicit in the illegal side of her business.

Harley seems irritated that his news didn’t get a more interesting reaction, but he’s in a better mood after Peter (he just _knew_ it’d be him) pays for lunch. They go to the car and it’s Peter turn to be irritated because Harley drove something flashy and impractical; he and Vision have to ride home with their luggage on their laps because there’s _no trunk_.

“This is cozy,” Harley says, smiling at Peter from the driver’s seat. Peter’s in the back with Morgan―the two shortest family members with the least need for legroom.

“Fuck off.”

“In front of your baby sister?! Save your bad language for NYC, city boy.”

Said ‘baby sister’ looks as insulted by this (she’s not a _baby_ , she’s _10_ ) as Peter is annoyed at being admonished. They glance at each other and both roll their eyes.

“Pretty sure she’s heard worse from Dad,” Peter says.

“There’s worse than ‘fuck’?” Morgan wants to know.

“You know, it’s pretty messed up that I can’t tell if you’re kidding.”

“I believe,” Vision offers, turning his head in the passenger seat, “that in this instance, Morgan is messing with you.”

Morgan beams.

“Dad says all kinds of shit.”

All three of her brothers immediately shush her.

“So,” Harley pipes up a few minutes later, “tell Morguna and I all about your adventures. For your sakes, I was sending thoughts and prayers for at least one of you to get lai― uh,” he stops himself, glancing at Morgan in the rearview mirror. “―to get a girlfriend. You two were definitely gone long enough to have, ahem, had several girlfriends, but I’m guessing I’m chauffeuring the same two sad-sack bachelors that left home weeks ago, seeing as neither of you have mentioned a special lady.”

Vision is far too dignified to respond to any of this, besides the fact that he left to get a _break_ from his feelings towards one woman in particular. Peter doesn’t need to check with him to know he isn’t one to subscribe to the idea of getting over one person by getting under someone else. As for himself, he did have a few significant encounters with a woman, but they weren’t at all the kind that Harley’s talking about.

Peter decides he’d rather not reply either and when their brother gets sick of teasing them, he talks about a friend of his from college. Since Peter and Vision were gone, Harley and his friend reconnected on social media. He gets into a bunch of their old stories and inside jokes that he doesn’t seem to notice going over the heads of his siblings (when things take a turn for the crude, Peter begs Morgan to cover her ears―she finally does, but Peter knows she’ll want some sort of favour later in exchange, once she’s had time to think up a good one). He’s still talking when they reach the compound, but wraps it up as they all climb out of the car when it’s obvious that no one’s going to wait for him to finish.

He doesn’t expect their parents to be waiting at the door, but they are. Both of them. Tony’s wearing his exoskeleton and pulls Peter into a tight hug that makes him hope all of their arguing over Flash’s proposal is over. He’s missed his dad. When he and Vision switch parents, Pepper cups Peter’s face and Tony gives Vision a verbal diagnostic. Peter knows that what their dad’s really asking is how Vision’s feeling since Wanda left. He thinks he’s so subtle. Pepper takes Peter’s bag and puts her arm around his shoulders to steer him into the living room.

“I’m so happy you’re home,” she says. Peter smiles at his mom.

“I think I’m gonna shower and take a nap before dinner. The bus ride,” he explains, stifling a yawn, “and then―”

“Harley,” Pepper finishes with a sly, understanding smile.

“What about me?” Harley asks, following them into the room.

“It was so nice of you to pick Peter and Vision up,” their mom covers. “Your dad and I appreciate it.” Peter snorts and escapes to his room.

Later, he comes back down and finds out Nebula’s making dinner tonight. That’s a little concerning, but according to their dad, she’s been practicing for weeks for this very occasion. Nebula’s like Tony, Peter thinks―she has an easier time showing her care in actions than in words. He’ll get Morgan to hug her on his behalf later. So far, his little sister is the only one Nebula allows that level of contact.

Dinner’s good, though he isn’t completely sure what he’s eating. Nebula isn’t shackled to any human standard of food preparation or presentation, so textures and flavours turn up unexpectedly. If things had worked out differently between Vision and Wanda, with Vision investing in her restaurant, maybe Wanda could’ve trained Nebula as some kind of experimental chef. As it is, both Morgan and Tony shout with joy when they drink their milkshakes―milkshakes with dinner is definitely something Peter can get behind―and find they taste exactly like cheeseburgers.

While Nebula’s still smiling with carefully restrained delight, Harley starts talking to her.

“Nebula, you should’ve come with us today. On the way to Albany, I crouched down by the pedals and Morgan slid over into my seat and waved at the other cars, pretending she was driving.”

“She did _what_?” Pepper demands.

“Relax, Mom,” Harley says, “FRIDAY was in control the whole time.”

“Like in that really old movie _My Dog Skip_?” Peter wonders, picturing it.

“Mhmm,” Morgan agrees, slurping her milkshake. “I was Skip.”

Tony’s laughing so hard that he chokes and Vision thumps him on the back.

“We bought Vision and Peter lunch, so you missed out on that,” Harley continues to Nebula. “And we had a good drive home too. It felt really quick.”

“I’m... uncertain how I would have contributed to the pleasure of your outing,” Nebula says. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourselves. I did as well.”

“What did you do while we were gone?”

“Made something,” she informs him with a dangerous smirk.

They try to leave the table right away to head to Nebula’s workshop, but Pepper makes them sit back down, enforcing their first family dinner since they’ve all been together again.

* * *

Despite (or because of) the togetherness, Harley wants to drive back to Albany the next morning. Peter knows he should’ve seen this coming; Harley didn’t get the time away from home that he just had. While he understands his brother’s antsiness, he’s not interested in joining him. People don’t always approach them when they go out together, but that doesn’t mean they don’t notice. If the Starks are always hanging around, it looks bad. Like, it makes people think they should be doing something more significant for their community than spending five bucks on a coffee. That’s the reasoning he uses with his brother to talk him into staying at the compound. Of course, there’s another reason: Peter doesn’t want to run into Liz. He doesn’t know when she’s leaving the area, only that she hasn’t left yet.

Harley talks about going on his own, then mopes when Pepper tells him she could actually use his help making some calls (he’s just as manipulative over the phone, if not more so, and their mom knows how to leverage those talents for the benefit of Stark Industries and the charities it supports). While he’s in her office with Peter―less reluctantly recruited―Harley brings up Boston. It doesn’t look like their mom’s going to agree to a trip, not with the need to restructure thanks to the threat of Flash still hanging over their heads, but she’s too distracted to give her son a hard ‘no.’

Peter wasn’t in a hurry to tell Vision what happened with him in Tribeca before, but having something else to do makes him suddenly itch to talk to his brother. As long as he doesn’t mention the parts that concern Vision directly, he thinks it should be fine to spill the rest. He sifts it all in his mind while, externally, he sifts his mom’s meetings, calls, and other commitments into an intimidatingly-colour-coded spreadsheet schedule. The minute he’s done, he bolts from the room. Distantly, he hears his mom call, “Thanks, Peter!”

Vision’s in his room and Peter doesn’t give him much warning before he blurts out everything that happened between himself and Michelle Jones. It’s just... he needs to get it all out, say everything. The stunned look fades from his brother’s face as he speaks and as soon as he’s done, Vision starts in about it being the most natural thing in the world for Michelle to have fallen in love with him. Peter laughs, getting rid of some of his anxious energy, but his brother insists. It’s a heck of a belated pep talk, filled with compliments, only he doesn’t have anything to put Vision’s reassurance towards. He’s not going to go out and get the girl or anything. That’s not the point. Vision does have a criticism for Michelle though―shockingly―and it’s how she delivered the revelation of her feelings to Peter. Considering that alone, he isn’t surprised that Peter would turn her down. Peter reminds him of the other main reason: he doesn’t _like_ Michelle. Or, he doesn’t like her like _that_. Or... Ugh, he’s still a little mixed up about her after all this shit.

“Regardless, I’m sorry for Miss Jones’s disappointment,” Vision replies. “Especially as she evidently expected you to, if not feel quite the same, at least agree to go on a date with her.”

“She’ll get over it.” He frowns. He has a feeling he said the same thing to Michelle at the time. “I’m sure she’ll decide it’s for the best that she didn’t go out with a dorky, capitalist, former Avenger anyway.” Peter pauses. “Do you really think I should’ve gone out with her?”

“No, Peter, of course I have nothing but praise for the fact that you heeded your own feelings in the moment. Self-knowledge has infinite value.”

He can’t admit to his brother that he doesn’t think he’s ever had _less_ knowledge of himself than in the past week.

“What about what I said about Liz? How I defended her?”

“You were yet unaware of her misdeeds.”

Peter laughs over Vision’s description of Liz’s actions as ‘misdeeds’ and paces, fingers linked as he presses his palms hard to the back of his head. He hinted at Liz, but focused on Michelle, in what he’s said so far. Now, he gets into the content of Michelle’s letter. Maybe he should have it here as proof, or a prop, or something, but it doesn’t really matter, because it’s all up in Peter’s head. Again, he doesn’t bring up Wanda, concentrating on the second half of the letter. Vision looks sufficiently stunned by that and admits ‘misdeeds’ might have been a little soft. He’s clearly happy to be able to think well of Michelle again (though he’s always thought better of her than Peter has), but is struggling to accept that the trade-off is thinking worse of Liz.

“You can’t be on everybody’s side,” Peter tells him.

“It isn’t as though Miss Allan committed a _very_ harmful crime, such as murder...”

“Don’t try to justify it. Doing something less bad than murder isn’t the same as not doing anything wrong.”

Vision sighs.

“What?” Peter asks.

“It’s... bewildering.”

“What is? Why Liz would lie to us?”

“Certainly, but I suppose I was referring more to the fact of you siding with Miss Jones.”

“But she wasn’t who Liz said she was! She was innocent the whole time!”

“So I see,” Vision agrees with a small smile. “It is simply a surprise to see you able to recognize that.”

“Oh, shut up, man.”

“I believe she would appreciate your sympathy, Peter. To be treated that way by a childhood friend, and then to watch the object of her affection―yourself, of course―become smitten with the very person who had caused her so much harm. And then for you to reject her, not only out of disinterest, but specifically because Miss Allan had given you such a false impression of Miss Jones’s character. I wonder if any of her family knew of her interest in you. How terrible if she had to inform them of your refusal.”

“That’s actually _not_ helping, thanks, Vision,” Peter says sarcastically after his brother’s made it feel so much worse. He has to remind himself it’s all over now, already dealt with.

“My intention was merely to―”

“Make me feel like shit? I’m kidding,” he adds. “I already know, but you’re doing a great job feeling like shit about it for me. I appreciate it, actually, because the more you worry about it, the less I have to. I’m feeling better already.”

His brother ignores his rambling. Peter doesn’t blame him.

“What a shame about Miss Allan,” Vision laments. “Such a pleasant, intelligent person who made terrible mistakes.”

“Yeah, if you took how decent Liz _seems_ and combined it with how decent Michelle actually _is_ , you’d have a single decent person.”

Vision cocks his head to give Peter an admonishing look.

“Not everyone found Michelle as impossible to be around as you like to imply.”

“Sure they did. You just never noticed...” ‘...because you were so wrapped up in Wanda,’ Peter almost says. He catches himself in time. “Anyway, I was as wrong about her as everybody else was, except _you_ because you were right like you always are,” he says with exasperation, then shoots his brother a smile.

“You admit your error extremely easily now,” Vision notes. “However, you must have struggled after reading Miss Jones’s letter.”

Peter nods and paces some more, sliding his hands over his head and down his face. He groans into them when they cover his mouth, then lets them fall.

“Massive understatement, dude. The worst thing was having to deal with it by myself. I needed you there to make excuses for me and tell me I wasn’t as much of an asshole as I felt like.”

“Perhaps you should have restrained your reaction a little, though I recognize that is a much more difficult task to accomplish when it means defending someone less. It’s your nature to protect anyone you deem worthy of it to the fullest extent of your abilities. It’s seldom that our compassion is what gets us into trouble. You misjudged in your choice of who to be too kind to.”

“Basically,” Peter agrees. “What about the next steps though?”

“Which steps would those be?”

“Well,” he says, halting his pacing and turning to face his brother, “do I tell Mom and Dad and everybody about Liz?”

“There would be... overreactions,” Visions predicts.

“Yeah.” Peter can’t even imagine the kind of crusade his dad would go on to right this wrong―in whatever method seemed fitting to him. An inevitable disaster. “The stuff she did to Michelle... that was years ago now.”

“It may therefore be for the best to let things lie. Is that what you’re suggesting?”

“Maybe. The longer we talk about this... I feel like maybe I’m being dramatic about it. I mean, it’s over and Liz is leaving. We could just not interfere?”

“A novelty, for this family,” Vision remarks wryly. “Though I believe we are capable.” Peter laughs.

“Ok. Let’s say it doesn’t go any farther than this room. Michelle didn’t give me permission to talk about it anyway. She didn’t _not_ give me permission, but I want to respect her privacy on this. Besides telling you.”

“It was necessary to unburden yourself,” his brother offers, pre-empting Peter’s guilt.

“Who’d even believe me? Nobody likes Michelle and everybody likes Liz. They might want to believe me, but that’s not enough to take on everybody’s negative opinion. People don’t just change their minds because you tell them to. We say nothing,” Peter reiterates, counting the stages on his fingers, “we let Liz leave, and if anybody finds out, like, years from now, we get to look super smart and make fun of them for not realizing at the time. Good? Good.”

“The only flaw in your plan is that, if I may say so, we already look super smart.”

“You know what? Good note. We’ll just skip straight to being know-it-alls then.”

“It’s decided.”

They shake on it.

After their conversation―despite of or because of it ending with them kinda joking about the situation―Peter’s mind is more at ease. He hates secrets, especially within his family, so having Vision as an outlet is awesome. He knows he can come to his brother about Michelle, or Liz, or the letter any time. Of course, there is one thing he’s still keeping back. He didn’t tell Vision that Wanda liked him, _really_ liked him. Liked him so much that it took two people to convince her to leave Vision behind. It seems to Peter that, at this point, that information can only come from Wanda herself. It’s too important and too personal for him to say it for her and, if she and Vision are ever together again (not _together_ , but, like, at an event maybe?), she can tell him herself and do justice to her own feelings in a way that Peter doesn’t want to intrude on. That’s Wanda’s right, after all this. The separation hurt her too.

Now that Peter’s taken care of what he needed to vent, he’s freed up to watch Vision. To see how he really is since taking a break from things to stay with Happy and May. Vision hasn’t exactly bounced back, Peter decides. He transitions back into his home routine of helping Tony in his workshop, Pepper with the business, and learning― _always_ learning―but even Peter can see that something’s missing. Vision’s evolved so much over the years and his loyalty for the family has definitely developed into affection. Still, he never had anybody like Wanda until, well, _Wanda_. She’s his first love and Peter thinks that, for his brother, that kind of thing goes deeper than feelings. It’s full of implications for who Vision is and who he’s continuing to become. A breakup isn’t straightforward for him. Caring about Wanda will have... _rewired_ him somehow. It’s like, Vision can’t function the same way with her removed from his life because he grew around her; her presence, her magic, and the way she felt about him in return are intertwined with everything else that makes him up. Wanda might have been his first love, but he fell in love with more maturity than most people do the first time around, Peter guesses.

It’s on their dad’s mind too because it doesn’t take many days of them being home before Tony asks him about Vision. They’re in his workshop and Tony just told FRIDAY to soundproof the wall adjoining Harley’s. Peter knows their dad’s objection is to the indie pop Harley’s blasting rather than the terrifying metallic grinding noises that have him tensing until FRIDAY muffles them.

“Thoughts on the Wanda situation?”

“I don’t think there really is a Wanda situation,” Peter says with a shrug.

“No, no, no, there’s no way that thing just turned to smoke.” Tony groans, reefing on something with a wrench. Peter waves him off before he can hurt himself and does it for him.

“Did you talk to Vision about it?”

“Sorta,” he says, nudging Peter aside so he can wheel in close to inspect his work.

“You shouldn’t bother him about it.”

“Which one of us is the dad?” Tony demands. He’s always snarky under criticism.

“I’m just saying... tread lightly.”

“Kid, you’re talking to the guy who built himself a flying suit of armour. How’s that for treading lightly?”

“Completely irrelevant, actually,” Peter points out. “You’re just bragging.”

“You sound like your mother. Anyway, doesn’t seem like Vision has any recent news about Wanda and I haven’t heard anything about her coming back to the Park.”

“What did you do, go over there and interrogate the staff?”

Tony’s conspicuously silent.

“Dad!”

“What? It’s called _research_ ,” his dad explains, gesturing with the wrench.

“Well,” Peter sighs, “I didn’t think she would come back.”

“Do you know something?”

He’s careful to stay behind his dad, keep his face out of his line of sight as he replies, “No, it’s just... I don’t know, Spidey intuition.”

“Wanda Maximoff can do whatever she wants. We were here before her and we’re still here after her. Vision might not be in great shape thanks to her, but we’re survivors.”

“I thought we were Avengers,” Peter jokes.

“What _you_ are, Pete, is a pain in the neck. Or,” Tony adds, stretching his neck from side to side, “maybe I’ve been in this position too long.”

“You want me to call your therapist to come give you a massage?”

His dad could easily have FRIDAY do it―it’d be faster, with less stumbling over the phone. Peter decides it’s a sign that things are just about back to normal between them that Tony allows him to call.

When they rebuilt the compound, certain areas were created with dimensions and attributes specific to their intended purposes―the kitchen, the bathrooms, the workshops, Peter’s lab―but plenty of other rooms existed before they had a use for them. One of those quickly became Tony’s physical therapy room. Peter stays with his dad, sitting on the padded table Tony’ll soon be lying on, while they wait. He has questions about Ned now. Again, Peter sees this as a good sign. His dad really turned against his best friend when he accepted Flash’s offer. They mostly talk about Ned’s apartment (Tony pulls up a real estate site to snoop through another apartment in the building). When Tony steers the conversation towards business, particularly his worries over Flash staging an imminent coup to take active control of SI, Peter assures him nothing like that ever came up.

“They just didn’t want to discuss it in front of you,” his dad suggests.

“’Cause they were scared I’d kick their asses,” Peter jokes back. “Seriously, Dad, we’ll work something out. I won’t let anybody take what Granddad built away from you. We can adapt.”

Tony snorts and starts to lift himself out of his wheelchair.

“Thought you were all about stagnation these days. You haven’t been big on change.”

He’s supposed to wait for the therapist. (He never does.) Peter grabs the arm of the chair with one hand and braces the other against his dad’s back. With a sharp inhale and a grunt, he’s up. Peter shrugs in response to Tony’s assessment.

“Maybe I’m adapting too.”

His dad gives him a long, careful look. He smiles and it crinkles the corners of his eyes.

“Maybe you are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * _Full House_ theme plays* Ah, the Starks, together again! I love writing this fic as a romance, but I wish there were more scenes in the novel where Elizabeth and Lydia interact (and/or Mary and Kitty). As it is, I keep adding moments for Peter and Harley just because I can. By the time I'm done writing this story, I'll be absolutely drunk with power on adding bonus Stark sibling scenes.
> 
> Next chapter: Peter gets swole, Harley gets an invite, and Happy gets a name-twin. (Oh, and the reappearance of a certain letter-writer is just around the corner.)


	20. Road Trips

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "But the gloom of Lydia’s prospect was shortly cleared away; for she received an invitation from Mrs Forster, the wife of the colonel of the regiment, to accompany her to Brighton." - _Pride and Prejudice_ , ch. 41

To Peter, it feels like he spends the final week and a half of February just catching his breath. A few deep ones in, exhaling in between, and suddenly, it’s March. He expected the days to slow down after returning home. For the compound to operate at an easier pace, giving him some kind of reprieve to reflect on his time in the city. He expected to come home and encounter whatever it was that had been keeping him immobile these last few years. He isn’t proud of it, but he anticipated reluctantly letting that feeling settle around him again. Sure, he’d keep some of the strength he regained, try to hold onto the independence, but he expected a fight he wasn’t sure he was prepared for. Instead, there’s nothing. Peter almost feels himself looking for it. Asleep and dreaming, he travels cautiously from room to room, like a man who moves into a castle formerly known to be haunted. He searches for the most insidious monster: apathy. He doesn’t find it. There isn’t anything here waiting to drag him down, letting him grow complacent before suffocating him in his sleep some night. It’s a relief and it reawakens his hibernating sense of responsibility. Not to others, but to himself. Clearly, he’s achieved something and it’s on him not to backslide.

Peter’s growing surer of himself, less paranoid and reclusive, when Harley informs him that Liz has (finally) left Albany. _Good_ , Peter thinks. His brother doesn’t appear to feel the same. He mopes, and he doesn’t contain the moping to his room. He mopes through the compound, in the workshops, at dinner―it’s like he doesn’t think it counts unless somebody sees him doing it. By a couple of days in, Peter’s getting pretty annoyed. Their mom lifts her ban on welding at the dinner table to coax some outward expression of interest from her son, but Harley isn’t tempted, he just goes on moping through meals while the rest of them eat. Naturally, Morgan mimics him and that’s what gets Peter to say something; it’s stupid for Morgan to get behind on her homework because Liz is gone and Harley’s being a baby about it. Peter tells his brother―in kinder terms―to get the hell over it. That completely backfires. Harley accuses Peter of being a cold-blooded bastard and whines more than ever, like he’s trying to make up for Peter’s lack of emotional effort. Jackass.

Peter claims the gym as his sanctuary. He has the place to himself; his dad has duplicates of all the hand weights he wants in his therapy room, along with resistance equipment and parallel bars; his mom hits the gym early in the morning, doing her cardio on the sleek stationary bike or dialing to the toughest course on the treadmill; Vision’s apparently good to go with no physical preparation to speak of; Nebula trains viciously and, when no one’s feeling dare-devilish enough to let her hand them their ass, she fights the robots Tony made her in the sparring room that’s all her own; Morgan gets her exercise racing around the yard pretending to be Iron Man (she hasn’t outgrown that yet); when Harley’s active, it’s a bad sign, an omen of forthcoming mischief. Peter escapes to this space and works out with a motivation he hasn’t had in years―the knowledge that the more time he spends in here, the less he has to hear Harley pine for Liz. Somehow, the weights get lighter every day and Peter notices himself passing through the month instead of the month passing him. He’s even accomplished something on the way. With nobody but FRIDAY to see, he flexes in front of the mirror after every session, exiting sweaty and grinning.

He ducks his brother when he can, but one afternoon, Peter strides into the living room to discover Harley already there―their dad’s there too, and he sees Peter, so he’s stuck. He drops onto a couch.

“You look good, kid,” Tony offers. “You’ve been working hard in there, huh?”

He gestures to the arms Peter’s crossed over his chest, but before Peter can reply, Harley sighs loudly.

“I don’t know how you can do anything,” he says. “I’ve never been this bored in my life. With Liz gone, this place sucks. There’s nothing to _do_.”

“Not like you were doing Liz,” Peter mutters. He shouldn’t, but some part of him wants to egg his brother into a fight for the sake of some fucking variety.

“Harley, I’ve been there,” their dad offers. “You just need something else to stimulate your brain.”

“Oh, is it his brain he’s wishing Liz was here to stimulate?” Peter asks under his breath.

“What did you say?” Harley demands, but Tony waves dismissively in Peter’s direction.

He continues trying to convince Harley to find a new project. He provides anecdote after anecdote of breakthroughs he made when he pushed through boredom. This part of the conversation Peter enjoys, though it does demonstrate how alike his dad and brother are. If they were a little less alike, maybe Tony wouldn’t be so patient with Harley’s sulking instead of telling him he understands.

“I do happen to know the best cure for getting over someone,” their dad says with a sly smirk, “but I don’t think Mom would be happy if she knew I told you.”

“If it’s to get under someone else, I already know,” Harley groans.

“Oh, for―” Peter censors himself, but this is ridiculous. “That’s just a dumb crush. The real problem is that Harley’s _always_ going to go back to being bored if he counts on other people to save him from it.”

“No, the problem is that Liz is in Massachusetts and I’m here.”

“Liz doesn’t give a shit about you,” Peter says, rolling his eyes at the way Harley’s exaggerated his connection to Liz since her departure. “You’re such a chump.”

His brother points a threatening finger at him like, _you wanna go?_ and Peter shrugs like, _bring it_.

“You could drive out there,” Tony suggests, drawing his sons’ attention to deescalate the situation. He tosses some trail mix into his mouth.

“Yeah, well, Mom wouldn’t let me.”

“She lets you go to Albany,” their dad counters, like a little trip into town is the same as chasing a woman across state lines.

“That’s true.”

Peter rolls his eyes again.

Since he can’t shut Harley up about Liz and his half-baked plan to find her in Massachusetts, it would be nice to at least be able to make fun of him for his reckless idiocy. Unfortunately, it isn’t very funny. Peter’s having trouble hearing Liz’s name and not immediately thinking of Michelle Jones. Which, in turn, reminds him that _he’s_ the idiot. Harley’s only being Harley and he’ll be onto a new fixation soon, just like their dad. Peter, meanwhile, gets to remain an idiot. At least he’s a semi-reformed idiot; with time and space, he’s developed a lot of sympathy for how Michelle thought she was protecting Wanda.

Before Peter can come back around to wanting to provoke his brother into a fight, the universe intervenes. For their family, that’s usually a dire situation, but this intervention doesn’t give them a cosmic supervillain, just a reason for his brother to quit moping. A college friend of Harley’s reaches out. The guy’s been working in Silicon Valley since graduation, but he’s flying up to Boston for a conference at the end of the month. Apparently, he’s taken time off corresponding to his trip, so after the work stuff, he’ll be on holiday in the city and he’d like his college buddy to come along.

Harley’s wild excitement (freedom!) collides with Tony’s relief (get the bored kid outta the house!) and Morgan’s disappointment (not invited?!) and the emotions in the compound become tornadic. With Harley at home, he and Morgan have grown close, but his time at college was something separate from his relationship with his sister. The two never mixed and they aren’t about to start. Who brings their little sister on a boys’ trip to Boston? Yeah, before the invite, Harley used the fact that Morgan’s never been to Boston as one of the main reasons their family should go, but now, circumstances have changed. It’s not a family vacation. It’s Morgan’s turn to mope around―when she isn’t busy putting herself in Harley’s path and arguing about why he should take her―while her brother blithely talks about his plans for the trip and generally displays a very _so long, suckers!_ attitude to the family he’s leaving behind.

With zero help from their brother, Peter and Vision try to console Morgan. It’s easy to come up with plenty of reasons why she’ll have a better time staying home, but difficult to convince her. The hardest thing is to resist telling her that the brother she idolizes is being a total fucking moron. Harley’s treating it like this is his turn, which, at the most, is going to temporarily pacify Morgan while she waits for _her_ turn to go someplace exciting. Vision went to Queens to stay with family and cope with heartache. Peter went to Manhattan to reaffirm his friendship with Ned after the rockiness with Flash’s business offer. Harley going to Boston follows the pattern in that it’s for his own benefit, but that benefit won’t last. Not like Vision and Peter’s improved mental states. Harley won’t find anything sustainable in this trip. He’ll go, act like an idiot for however long, then come back more antsy than ever. As much as he thinks Harley’s flighty and irresponsible, Peter doesn’t want his brother to feel trapped. He just can’t see how this is the solution.

Figuring there’s no honour among siblings anyway, he talks to their mom about it behind his brother’s back. Peter explains his worries, comparing Harley going to Boston to himself and Vision going to New York City. Pointing out that he and Vision had family nearby, whereas Harley’s fleeing any kind of supervision. He even reminds Pepper of New Year’s Eve. It feels slightly underhanded to drag that into it, but Harley _did_ drink too much without them around and Peter _was_ the one who brought him home safely. Peter’s supposed to assume his brother’s going to be _more_ responsible without anybody around to look out for him? (There’ll be the friend, but they don’t even know that guy!) Besides, what if he does happen to run into Liz? It’s a big city, but Harley finding Liz is far from impossible if he tries―Peter has to give him that.

Pepper hears him out, sitting calmly on the other side of her desk from him in her office, making thoughtful noises. Unfortunately, when she replies, it isn’t what Peter was hoping for.

“Your brother’s going stir-crazy here. I hear what you’re saying about this trip being different from yours, but you and Harley are such different people. Your needs are different. You might want a short stay with May and Happy to be enough for him, but it wouldn’t be.”

“No,” Peter agrees, “I know he would hate that. I just thought maybe he could wait until all of us went away together? Or maybe he could go somewhere on some kind of retreat? Or, if he needs more space, apply to do his master’s on the other side of the country or abroad? Just, something with structure.”

Hi mom smiles at him.

“You sound so grown up. God, time flies, huh?” He nods and she continues, “I have to let Harley go though, Pete. He’s twenty-three years old. Boston’s a lot closer than most places and he’ll be driving out himself, so FRIDAY will be able to keep track of him.”

“It _is_ close,” Peter agrees, sitting forward in his chair. “People know us there. Maybe Harley gets recognized on sight less often than Dad does, but he isn’t discrete. He gets drunk, tells the wrong person he’s a Stark...” He trails off, unable to voice the possible dangers. “Mom, he could get hurt. Even if he only makes a fool of himself, how’s that going to look for us right now?”

“I think you need to have a little more faith in your brother. And let me worry about PR, Peter, please. You know I could handle any trouble.”

“But trouble doesn’t need to happen in the first place!” Peter says desperately.

“Peter, this isn’t on you,” his mom insists. “Harley’s an adult. If it’s his interest in Liz that’s bothering you, I understand. It’s a little weird for him to pursue the same woman you almost dated, but I’d suggest you just talk to him about that before he leaves. Ultimately, that’s really up to Liz. She doesn’t belong to either of you.”

“I didn’t say she did and I’m not _jealous_ , Mom. I’m thinking about Harley and, besides him, our family, Stark Industries. You’re looking at options, right? For restructuring, maybe buying out some of the partners to re-establish majority ownership?”

“You pay attention,” she acknowledges, smiling.

“You know I do. I... I take this stuff seriously. I just think that if Harley goes out to Boston and dicks around―sorry, Mom―bad press could fuck things up right now. Sorry, Mom,” he repeats.

“I’ve heard worse.”

“Dad encourages Harley, you know he does, but he’ll listen to you if you tell him no. They both will. Don’t you want...” Peter sighs. “Don’t you want Harley to _do_ something? He could really do something, like Dad did, if you just... point him in the right direction. He’s too smart for this. Don’t tell him I said that.”

“Harley can be smart and have a little fun.”

“Yeah, but, come on. ‘A little fun’ on _his_ credit card limit and with his devious ideas would have big consequences. You don’t have to look any further than Dad’s past to know how that turns out. You worried about Dad, didn’t you? When you were his assistant?”

Pepper gives her son a wry look.

“As much as we love to compare them, Harley isn’t Tony. Harley has us to support him and look out for him, he has Morgan―”

“Ok, yeah, he has Morgan, and Morgan has the potential to be _another_ Dad in a few more years. She does whatever Harley does, you know that.”

His mom comes around the desk and crouches in front of him.

“Hey, everything’ll be ok, Pete.” She touches his forehead, pushing his hair back. “You wanna look after everybody, I know, but we’re all just trying our best. This family isn’t a car that’s going to crash if you take your eyes off the road now and then. It’s hard,” Pepper acknowledges, “watching you guys grow up.” She doesn’t mention the Snap and Peter doesn’t bring it up, but it’s there with them. “But you and I both know that none of you can stay young forever, and what comes with that is making your own decisions, each of you. I can’t control Harley any more than I can control Dad.”

Peter snorts.

“You _totally_ control Dad.”

“Well, he’s become tamer with age. Let’s just see how this goes, huh?”

They’re back to Harley and Peter can tell he won’t be getting a different answer. Trying to share his mom’s perspective, he nods. She’s right; Harley isn’t his responsibility. It’s just his habit to overextend himself in an attempt to look after everyone at once. He tells himself he said everything he could think of and it’s out of his hands. When he leaves Pepper’s office, he does his best to leave his worries there too.

The most comforting thing about venting his thoughts to his mom is that she won’t share them with anyone else. His dad would get worked up on Harley’s behalf before snitching to Harley, and if Harley knew Peter was trying to big-brother his big brother, there’d be hell to pay one way or another. Harley’d probably get him back when he least expected it. He doesn’t get it because he won’t take Peter’s concerns seriously. To him, this trip is the best thing that’s happened to him for ages. He’s imagining cutting loose, out from under the shadow of the compound, adventures in a less familiar city, the soft blur of lights at night instead of the harsh reality of his family 24/7. He sees himself and his buddy buying expensive drinks for a crowd of beautiful women. Hears himself whisper in the prettiest one’s ear that, yes, he’s one of _those_ Starks. If Harley finds out Peter attempted to get him forbidden from going, Peter’s dead meat.

As it is, Peter doesn’t say a word and neither does Pepper, so April nears with Harley in stellar spirits.

He doesn’t mention Liz as often now―she’s become a single element in his larger fantasy of a week in Boston―giving Peter one less reason to be reminded of her. Harley leaving might afford him a chance to finally start forgetting about Liz. Both his crush on her and his disappointment when she started dating that other guy are behind him and he’d like them to stay that way. If he can’t run into her and his brother’s not around to talk about her and he doesn’t look her up online again, well, Peter figures that eliminates most possibilities. He doesn’t consider that she might be the one to reach out to him. It doesn’t occur to him until he’s heading back to his bedroom from the gym one day and FRIDAY informs him of Liz’s incoming call. Peter sprints to take it in his room, out of earshot from the others.

It’s weird that she’s calling, right? When they were circling each other, he was almost always the one who texted first. Peter answers the call, panting and settled on the assumption that she must be contacting him for some reason he hasn’t thought of. But Liz is sweet on the phone. Like, her voice sounds intentionally appealing. She teasingly asks what he’s been doing to be so out of breath and Peter instinctively has FRIDAY transfer the call to his cell; her tone embarrasses him, hinting at a conversation too private to be projected in his bedroom like this. It doesn’t seem any less seductive when her voice is right in his ear. He closes his eyes and mentally reminds himself that she can’t just put him down and pick him back up, counting on him to be flattered. Just because she’s beautiful and, and good at talking to him and makes her voice sound like this is something infinitely more intimate than a _hey, how are you?_ call. Peter knows her better now and, even without that information, he knows himself better too. He’s not staying on standby for anybody.

Somehow, Liz is aware that he was in NYC recently and she asks about that. He starts out vague enough as he gets his bearings―food, museums, what he liked about Tribeca. Then, Peter combats her interest and her charm by mentioning that he saw Carol Danvers and Michelle Jones while he was there. He wonders if Liz is putting it together yet, if she suspects that he’s aware of certain things too, like the truth about her history with Michelle. Offhandedly, he asks if she knows Carol. Didn’t she mention Carol’s daughter, Monica, to him once or twice? Sometimes, Peter has fun playing dumb.

Liz is quiet for a bit, then drags out an, “Ummm,” to take up some of that pause. “Yeah,” she finally says, “I know Carol a little. Obviously, she’s not around a lot. It’s impressive, what she does out there.”

“Right?” Peter agrees eagerly.

“You like her then?”

“Oh yeah, Carol’s awesome.”

“Right.” Hers is much more subdued, wary while (Peter guesses) she reassesses the situation. “And she stayed awhile?”

“Mhmm, like a week, I think. She and Michelle both did.”

“Did you... see them much?”

“All the time,” Peter assures her. “We all ate dinner together at Fury’s.”

He hopes that implies they had a ton of chances to talk and potentially exchange information about Liz. That’s not exactly how it happened, but there’s no way he’s bringing up Michelle’s confession. He feels protective of that, or at least, he doesn’t think Michelle deserves to have it exposed to Liz of all people.

“Carol’s pretty polar opposite to MJ, didn’t you think?” Liz tries. Peter smiles into the phone, realizing she’s trying to determine his allegiance.

“Yeah, they’re pretty different,” he says honestly. After the tiniest pause, he adds, “Michelle definitely grows on you though.”

Liz makes a sound like she was about to start laughing, taking Peter’s comment as a joke. Without him joining in, he hears her pull herself back.

“How so?” she asks carefully. “Don’t tell me she’s friendly all of a sudden. I just can’t picture her as an extrovert.”

Peter laughs lightly at that.

“No, no big changes.” He can practically hear Liz trying to figure out what’s going on here. Grinning, he says, “Like I said, she just grows on you. It’s not that she’s any different. I guess I just needed a chance to spend more time with her. Between that and seeing how she is with her family, I think I got a better idea of the kind of person she really is.”

“I... I see.” Then no response for so long that Peter covers his phone with his hand and asks FRIDAY if Liz is still on the line. She is. Soon, she continues, “Well, that’s great, Peter. You know how well _I_ know MJ, so I hope she’s being genuine with you. If she warms up to you in return, that might be your best bet for escaping the kind of treatment I know she can dish out.”

“Yeah,” he mutters, “ _if_ she warms up to me.” _Shit, Liz, if you only knew._

“You’ve probably already considered this, but MJ might’ve been performing for her family a little. Who wouldn’t be on their best behaviour in front of Fury, right?”

“That’s true,” Peter has to acknowledge. Was MJ― _Michelle_ ―different around her family? Kinda. But the time they spent with Carol and Fury wasn’t when Peter got his clearest glimpse into who Michelle is.

He doesn’t offer more than that. Liz may want to criticize Michelle, to hear more about what she was like in Tribeca just so she can expose the illusion of it all to Peter, but he’s not interested. Instead, he asks about her and how her relocation farther east is suiting her. They compare New York City to Boston in the spring and, without Peter responding to Liz’s now very infrequent attempts to flirt with him, finally let the conversation end. Their goodbyes are polite and, Peter assumes they’re both hoping, permanent. He sighs when it’s over and gets in the shower, washing away the sweat from the gym and a persistent chilliness.

A couple days later, Harley packs up and heads out. Peter’s quit trying to monitor him, but he hopes somebody checked his bag. His brother’s not bad at packing, he’s actually really good at it. So good that it’s possible he’s sneaking some project or other out of the compound under a pile of socks. Anyway, not Peter’s problem.

Morgan cries when Harley slings his bag into the backseat of one of their cars (Dad wouldn’t let him take a two-seater convertible, which is all the parenting Peter’s seen happening regarding this trip, but again― _sigh_ ―not his problem). It’s manipulative crying though and Harley, who’s an expert at that, feels more proud of his little sister for it than guilty that he’s leaving her behind. Tony grabs hold of Morgan and keeps her standing next to his chair while he tells his son to have a good time. There’s his old line about not doing anything he would do, or anything he wouldn’t do. He jokes that he’s raised them by imparting catchy taglines at the right moments. Peter can only roll his eyes, wave while his brother drives off (at a reasonable speed, so as not to immediately alarm their mom), and hope for the best.

* * *

Back before Harley got invited on this trip, and before he spent so much time whining about Liz, Peter was glad she was leaving. It would be for the best. Now, he’s feeling the downside of her departure; it’s going to be a little bit tedious without the drives into Albany to break up his week, and most of those were undertaken alongside his brother, motivated by the possibility of running into Liz. He could still drive there himself, or round up his remaining siblings, but he somehow doesn’t have the energy without Harley, who was always the impetus to their outings. Though Morgan’s unhappy in her brother’s absence, Peter knows she’ll buckle down on her schoolwork again soon. Vision and Nebula rely less on Harley’s entertainment value―they’re just as content doing their own thing as tagging along to Albany. In Peter’s estimation, he’s the only one who’s inherited his brother’s restlessness. There’s only so much time he can spend on push-ups. Luckily, he has something else to look forward to. He starts getting excited about his road trip with Happy and May. It keeps him from spiraling the way Harley did when faced with boredom, and hopefully makes him less of a pain in the ass to be around in the meantime.

His brother was supposed to text or call home at rest stops. He had a four-ish-hour drive ahead of him to get to Boston, and he might’ve done the whole thing without taking a break. Or, he’s already slacking on what he promised Pepper, because they don’t hear from him until a two-word text: _In Boston_. At his wife’s frustration, Tony reminds her they know where the car is at all times, so at least they can keep an eye on their son that way. Peter’s certain his dad’s probably already been doing that. He acts like he has loads of other things to focus on, but he’ll have had Harley’s route up on at least one of the screens in his workshop. It’s tough―for all of them―to ever completely let their guard down. Peter’s parents though... they know what it’s like to lose one of their kids and wait a long time for them to come back, mostly thinking they won’t. Peter can’t blame his mom for wanting Harley to check in or his dad for monitoring FRIDAY’s signal. It’s possible that he texts his brother himself and lays a minor guilt trip on him. The next day, Harley sends his mom message after message, a flood of photos around Boston, with his own smiling face in at least half of them. Peter doesn’t let anyone see the way he sighs in relief.

It’s easier on all of them after that. Tony and Pepper are calmer and have the Leedses over for dinner one night. Peter’s happy to report on how well he saw their son doing at his new job. He gets to talk about Ned, his parents talk about Harley, and he thinks everybody feels better because of it. It’s nice to discuss loved ones to make them feel nearer. Though Morgan’s still fairly mad that she didn’t get to go to Boston (which is what _she_ talks about at dinner), she’s having Nebula help her brainstorm ways for Harley to make it up to her. There’s a list they work on when she gets through her homework every day; it has an entire subsection for Travel and an increasing number of the locations aren’t on Earth. Morgan’s big sister is a fount of information that’s really raising the standard for restitutions.

Peter expects to get details on his trip any day, but when May calls, the news isn’t exactly what he was anticipating. They’ll be leaving later than they planned (he could’ve guessed that much already, since it’s April in a couple of days) and won’t be going for quite as long. May pushed the holiday back a little because she and Happy went away in December and she can resign herself to taking time off if her vacations are spread out more. Besides that, with Tony and Pepper seeing what they can do about their Stark Industries ownership, Happy has more on his plate; he’ll want to be back at work when some of their plans are implemented. Massachusetts, Vermont, and New Hampshire were all on the table originally. During their phone call, the three of them eliminate Massachusetts (they don’t want to crowd Harley and infringe on his feeling of independence) and New Hampshire. Vermont’s closer with Happy and May picking Peter up from the compound on their way. He feels bad about them having to drive up to get him and offers to meet them partway, but they say they don’t mind. They’d rather push through a lot of driving at the start, then make their way leisurely through Vermont. Peter guesses that makes sense. And he can’t be too disappointed that they aren’t going for longer, since he’s kinda a guest on their trip.

He’s never been to Vermont before, but when he thinks about going, a particular detail does come to mind. Michelle Jones. Ok, so she’s more than a detail, she’s an entire person who lives in that state, at least some of the time. He has no idea if she’s there right now. She left NYC to see her cousin, but that was more than a month ago. Michelle seems to return to Wanda like a boomerang, so she’s probably with her again by now, somewhere in Manhattan. If she did find out Peter was traveling to Vermont―which she shouldn’t, right? Why would she?―she probably wouldn’t care. There’s nothing, like, _lingering_ between them. He was an idiot, but that shouldn’t be enough of a reason for her to hunt him down and murder him in a forest of sugar maples. Peter’s certain Michelle will have put the whole thing behind her. They won’t even be on each other’s radar.

March becomes April, a last freak snowfall becomes unchanging days of rain, and, finally, Happy and May return to the compound. They won’t be continuing on to Vermont until the next day, which should give their shoes time to dry out. Morgan offers her uncle her polka dot rainboots and he declines before Tony can overhear and insist. Happy knows his brother-in-law would swallow coffee by the gallon to stay up all night designing a pair to fit him. No, the only last-minute surprise will be the Boston Terrier they bring in from the car, springing dogsitting duties on the Starks. Morgan’s thrilled that she’s getting a little Boston after all. The dog is a very recent addition to the Hogan household after May had a meeting at a rescue centre; she was supposed to be connecting displaced families with displaced pets, but she couldn’t seem to go home without him. Apparently, Happy protested for about ten minutes before falling totally in love with the little guy, named by its previous owners―by total coincidence―Happy. May thinks it’s fate. Between Morgan’s excitement, Vision’s reliability, and Nebula’s self-discipline, they aren’t a bad group to take care of an animal. Plus, Dog-Happy takes to them right away.

They start out early in the morning. Only Vision and Pepper see them off (the dog’s asleep on Morgan’s bed), giving them breakfast and thermoses of coffee for the road. Peter settles into the backseat and, despite his aunt’s assurances that they won’t mind if he falls asleep, decides to stay awake. The orange sun comes up as they drive north and he’s about as happy as he can imagine being. His aunt and uncle seem equally content, probably because he’s holding back on the playlist. For now.

After stopping for an extremely early lunch and to let May take over driving, they cross into Vermont to the sounds of AC/DC and Happy grumbling about Peter inheriting his dad’s taste in music. Peter argues there’s no song more appropriate for a road trip than one with ‘Highway’ right there in the title. May brokers a compromise and the volume goes down, but not off, as they enter Burlington and wind the last couple of miles to their hotel. Peter practically springs from the car in the parking lot. The air seems fresher and he’s ready to toss his bag in his room and stretch his legs on a walk down to see... which lake is it again? Champlain, May informs him. She’s the one who’s done the research for this trip. Happy’s just thrilled to get her away from work and Peter’s trying to absorb all this _green_ through his eyeballs; every direction he looks in, there’s forest.

They don’t dive head-first into nature the first day, staying within the city limits and exploring historic buildings. Peter was ready to do more than this, but it’s May’s choice, so he thinks of it as a field trip and tries to learn some stuff. He also takes pictures―something to break up the ones Harley’s hopefully still sending their mom from Boston. In the evening, he and May leave Happy at the hotel (he’s done walking for the day) and make their way to the water. The mountains in the distance are growing dull, preparing to disappear into the dark, and it’s a cool view. Their conversation is light as Peter bounces along and his aunt points out boats going by. They talk about what to get for dinner, what they might do tomorrow and over the next few days. They’re here at the tail-end of maple syrup season, so May wants to buy some to take home. There are also, she tells him, plenty of state forests to explore, which is the reason all three of them brought hiking boots.

Besides that, there’s something May didn’t exactly plan, but is convenient now that they’re here. Though not _perfectly_ convenient, since it’s not exactly the direction they were headed in, it’s in the area and when’s the next time they might be in Vermont? Definitely not soon, with his aunt’s reluctance to be away from work. She finally tells him what this mysterious addition to their itinerary is: the cottage she visited years ago. Peter feels the blood drain from his face. He only knows of one Vermont cottage his aunt’s visited, and it belonged to Michelle Jones’s parents. Something about the peacefulness of the spot―the trees surrounding the cottage, the lake it overlooked―makes May want to check it out. Apparently, she’s done some investigating on the sly, sneaking glances at her phone in between today’s tours of historic Burlington, and found out that the cottage has its own website. _Super_ , Peter thinks, nodding numbly. He wants to laugh. How’s this for not being on each other’s radar? Doesn’t mean Michelle still owns the place though, right? She probably sold it, after her parents died. Although, it does kinda seem like the ideal place for her, far away from people and noise and any problems a person might want to leave behind... Ok, now he’s just thinking about himself, but he has almost talked himself into believing that the cottage isn’t hers anymore.

“What’s the website for?” he asks his aunt. It’s probably a bed and breakfast or something, he figures. And Michelle Jones would _never_ run a bed and breakfast.

“Oh, the cottage is an artist’s studio now!” May enthuses, encouraged by her nephew’s interest.

Artist? Shit. But, no, lots of people are artists. Probably even more around here than in other places, Peter thinks, with this picturesque landscape.

“For, like, retreats and stuff? Like an artists’ colony?”

“No, it’s just one artist. What am I saying?” She laughs suddenly and Peter jolts. “You _know_ her. Here,” May says, pulling out her phone and finding the website before handing it to her nephew.

Yep, there’s her name on the site: Michelle Jones. He could almost try to further delude himself that it’s a different Michelle Jones, but there’s a picture. She isn’t facing the camera―she’s painting―but he can see enough of her to know it’s his Michelle Jones. Not _his_ , but, like, the one he knows. Fuck.

“Yep,” he hears himself say.

“And look,” May goes on, scrolling down the page while he continues to hold the phone, “the house is open for unguided studio tours every Wednesday. That’s tomorrow!”

“I guess it is.” He doesn’t know how to feel about this and that much must be evident in his expression because his aunt takes her phone back and grabs Peter’s shoulder, rotating him to look at her.

“Is this ok? I know you and Michelle aren’t really friends―” He never told May what happened in NYC and now is _so_ not the time. “―but we’d be going to see the cottage, not her. Between me and Liz Allan, you must’ve heard enough about the place to be curious.” Yeah, never caught her up on the Liz Allan situation either.

Peter doesn’t quite nod. He can’t just reject Michelle and then show up _at her house_. That would be creepy and desperate and just send totally the wrong signals. She’d think he came all this way on _purpose_ , because how does a person accidentally end up at their former nemesis’s remote cottage? He’s the last person she’d want to come walking through her door, barging into her haven, looking at all her stuff. Maybe the place isn’t private (obviously, with a standing day of the week for an open house), but it feels like it is where he’s concerned.

“You don’t think...” he starts quietly, uncertainly, “...that we’ve seen enough historic buildings?”

“What? Peter, it’s not _that_ historic. It’s a residence, not a church, and it’s less than a hundred years old. And it’s not just some building. I have a memory of being there.” The nostalgia makes his aunt smile and he doesn’t know how he can keep trying to prevent her from going. “You don’t have to go in. I remember there being hiking trails in the forest around the cottage.”

“This whole state is a forest with hiking trails,” Peter mutters, but May rolls her eyes at him.

He could just come clean, divulge everything to his aunt. She’d understand why he couldn’t chance running into Michelle. She won’t put him in such an awkward situation. He’ll give himself tonight to think about it and either tell her in the morning or keep his mouth shut and get through the day. Really, it’s just _one_ day. Early in their trip too. If things are incredibly awkward at the cottage, he’ll have a few days to recover before they go home again.

It turns out Peter’s an idiot for putting off his confession. Morning comes, he sees his aunt’s excited face in the breakfast room at the hotel, and he can’t say no _now_. With a quivering feeling in his chest, he accepts that the next stop on their journey is the Jones cottage. Well, maybe she won’t be home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hands up, those of you who think Harley's li'l jaunt to Boston will be totally fine and uneventful! Keep your hand up if you think Michelle won't be at home!
> 
> Ah! I'm so excited for you all to read the next chapter! It's maybe my favourite that I've written for this story so far. (And I love this story with my entire being, so you can only imagine.)


	21. Studio Tour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Elizabeth, as they drove along, watched for the first appearance of Pemberley Woods with some perturbation; and when at length they turned in at the lodge, her spirits were in a high flutter." - _Pride and Prejudice_ , ch. 43

This is why they have satellite navigation: for when the remembered landmarks Aunt May planned to use as their guide turn out to be trees that look identical to every tree around them. Once she gives in and lets technology take over, they make their way more quickly and with less backtracking. The cottage is supposed to be less than two hours outside of Burlington, so they kept their hotel. Happy supported that decision; they have good bathtubs and he’s already looking forward to a second soak after another day of walking. Hiking this time too, not just a stroll around the city, which means sorer feet. But all of that is on the other side of trespassing (not really trespassing, but Peter still feels weird about it) in Michelle Jones’s home. He’s keeping track of the turns they make and the passing landscape―trees, trees, trees―just like his aunt and uncle are, but his sense of anticipation is definitely more worried than theirs. By the time they turn off the shaded side road onto a long, twisting driveway, his heart’s racing. He puts his window down a little and closes his eyes as he breathes the damp air of the woods. It rained last night and the three of them slathered themselves in mosquito repellent before leaving the hotel.

Expecting Happy to be tapping the breaks and parking any second, Peter opens his eyes. Nope, there’s still another bend to go around. And another. How long is this driveway? And, wait, how much land does Michelle own out here? Honestly, when everybody said ‘cottage,’ Peter was picturing a summer-camp cabin. At the largest, the bungalow Baby’s family stays at in that really old movie, _Dirty Dancing_. But this is... Is that a river, down there? Shit, a whole river. Not, like, a big one (maybe this is more of a creek), but still. Sunlight cuts through the trees and though it heats the air in the car, Peter shivers. He thought Michelle was some reserved city person, bitter and sarcastic with her biting editorial cartoons and her cold shoulder. He can’t imagine anyone like that living here.

For her criticism of his family’s money and privilege, it looks like she’s not too hard up either. Immediately, Peter feels terrible for thinking that. This place is her inheritance and he understands her well enough from her letter to know she’d trade it in a second to get her parents back. He was aware of things that should’ve helped him put it together though―that this wouldn’t be some horror-movie shack in the woods. Liz talking about Michelle’s family influence assisting her in her career. Her parents being in a position to offer financial assistance to Liz and her mother when they moved to Oregon. The fact that Michelle isn’t just Wanda’s best friend, but also her _business partner_. Though Peter’s far from being an expert on the restaurant industry, he does know it takes money to start a business and keep it alive. He’s learned a thing or two from Pepper. Clearly, he just lacks her foresight, or all of this wouldn’t be such a surprise to him. Was that a _deer_?

The ground slopes uphill, away from the creek and the low, marshy spots where the few non-tree plants are sprouting. Peter has a sudden fantasy of webbing through these trees. He laughs giddily to himself at the thought of going from Spider-Man to Tarzan out here, arching up to the sun and down to the water. He feels good, strong, and he almost wishes he packed the suit... until he remembers what they’re actually doing here. The large ‘cottage’ situated at the top of the hill they’ve been climbing jogs his memory.

Well, it is made of wood, so that part matches what he’s been picturing. Beyond that, it’s the size of a big house. Actually, he guesses it _is_ a big house, just one without bricks or a sidewalk out front or, like, a neighbourhood. Though his house doesn’t have any of those things either. What the cottage does have is presence. Beauty. An organic exterior that makes it look right in these surroundings, though it doesn’t exactly blend in. They park and get out of the car. As Peter glances around, May points in the direction of the lake and explains that there’s a big deck on the far side of the house, westward-facing, with a view she still remembers. When she steps away to check with Happy that he has the _good_ camera, not just a cell camera, Peter lets his head fall back. He can hear so many different birdcalls that he’d need time to focus to be able to pick one out and find the bird that was doing it. This would be a hell of a place to retrain his senses, like he’s been doing with his body.

When his aunt checks the time to make sure they’re within visiting hours, then strides towards the cottage, all of Peter’s apprehension hits him again. There’s no car though, so that should mean nobody’s home. So then how will they get into the place? He’s pondering the possibilities when a car does drive up behind them and a blonde woman calls out the window to get their attention before parking.

“Hi! Hi, are you here to tour the studio? I’m Betty, just a sec!”

The woman’s a few years older than Peter and he wonders, like he does whenever he sees someone around his age, if they’d be the same age without the Snap. He also sometimes wonders if that’s something he’ll be contemplating forever. Maybe he’ll wake up one day and be able to accept that things are the way they are and stop thinking of time as misaligned, quit trying to decide whose lives are askew―the people who disappeared or the people who stayed. He breaks out of his thoughts when Betty grabs his hand and shakes it.

“Hey,” she says to the three of them, slightly out of breath. She touches her hair like she wants to push something back (does she normally have sunglasses perched on top of her head? A hat?), but there’s nothing there, so she drops her hand, smiling. “I’m the artist’s neighbour. I saw your car turn down the driveway and I waited a few minutes because sometimes people make a wrong turn and then have to come back down, and I don’t know if you noticed, but the laneway’s really only wide enough for a single car.”

“You were leaving us room to get back out,” Happy clarifies. He nods sharply. “I like it. Risk management.”

“Exactly,” Betty says. “I usually beat the first visitors up here in the morning, but you guys must be early risers!”

“We’re trying to make the most of our vacation,” May agrees, beaming.

“Then I’m glad I floored it up the hill. Let’s get started!”

Peter laughs at her admission and Betty joins in. He’s glad. She started off so perky that he was worried she was the phoney, salesy type. Now, he thinks she was probably just nervous about being late.

They complete their introductions and pound up a flight of stairs to reach the front entrance. Betty asks how they found out about the place and May explains that she visited decades ago. Their guide loves that story, declares the idea of wanting to return to a place you were happy to be romantic, and something about the ease of how she expresses her emotions makes Peter think of Ned. Betty has her own history with the cottage. A Vermont native, she spent her summers divided between the cottage next door and the one she’s currently unlocking and entering ahead of them. She knows the artist, Michelle, because they were summer friends up here. She flicks the lights on and they find themselves in a mudroom, through which she quickly leads them to a space that looks like it should be a kitchen, except for the heavy curtains on the windows (Betty jerks them open and the room’s instantly friendlier) and a faint chemical smell. It was Mr. Jones’s darkroom, way back when, she tells them. She points out the line where he’d clip his string of negatives, the empty wash trays by the sink. He made a hobby of bird photography―when Michelle and herself weren’t accidentally opening the door and running through while he was trying to develop prints, making him have to start all over. Betty’s smile tells Peter something about Michelle’s dad. Michelle doesn’t use the room, she says. Hasn’t changed much besides swapping out the red bulbs in the lights.

Before they continue on, Betty urges them to walk past the large rack Mr. Jones used to dry his prints on to take a look at the view from the window. Peter cranes his head to the right to catch sight of the lake, but even the view of thousands of trees stretched out in front of him is growing on him. Struck by the light from the east, he sees the red tips on the maples where their leaves will grow. There’s something soothing about the way they cascade down the hill away from the cottage like that. These trees are old (he doesn’t know how old, but they’re tall as fuck, ok?), deeply rooted, but the highest branches sway lithely when a breeze catches them. He could sit here and watch. As they leave the room, Peter reaches up and plucks the line strung across its width, leaving it bobbing behind him.

Betty shows them into Michelle’s studio, which is a huge mess. She’s the first to say so, laughing, and he grins at her, thinking they could be friends. The vista from this window is the same but different; they’re on the same side of the house, though closer to the lake. It’s pretty―pretty enough that the order of the trees outside sets off the tumultuous interior of Michelle’s workspace and makes it look intentional and, well, _artistic_. Peter smiles fondly, out of sight of the others, as he slowly circles the room. There’s no hint of the medium she uses for her commercial cartoons (digital). That world is completely separate from this one. Here are her paintbrushes, disorganized and held in the loose grip of big, old coffee cans. The brushes rattle when Peter runs his finger over their handles, the faded red bristles spinning. A thick, flat brush with discoloured yellow bristles might be his favourite. Glancing over his shoulder, he furtively strokes the uneven hairs with his thumb. They all have this well-used quality that makes his chest clench confusingly. _Michelle’s been living a whole life with these in her hand_ , he thinks, _and I don’t know anything about it_.

There are palettes, thinly splattered and thickly caked in the crust of old colours. They’re microcosms of the chaos of the larger space. His idea of palettes is something tidy, a perfect dollop of each colour of the rainbow, squeezed out in order (red, orange, yellow, etcetera), with an even white space in between. Her palettes aren’t even the shape he thought palettes were supposed to be. One’s perfect and fine, porcelain, but the next is a speckled old mirror, and the one after that looks like the inside of a cereal box. She’s eclectic in a way that surprises him. It isn’t the aesthetic, it’s the _rush_ of it all, like she has these ideas she has to put down _immediately_ and can’t wait for proper tools. The underlying urgency is what has the hair standing up on Peter’s arms. It’s dizzying, exciting, confusingly turning him on a little. What the _fuck_?

He steps over the tubes of paint―all sizes, all colours, all stages of being squeezed to death to wring the last of the paint from them―scattered on the floor to reach the easels propped up in the corner. Heavy wood, one that sounds like aluminum when he flicks it with his fingernail. Some are tightly collapsed while others lean against the wall at their full height (one is over Peter’s head and he wants to know what Michelle did that was so big she needed _that_ ). A cheap-looking plastic one tilts precariously, legs retracted unequally, where she gave up on it. He has an urge to fiddle with it, fix the legs, and put it away neatly for her. An urge he ignores.

... An urge he gives into. While May asks Betty about Michelle’s painting style and Happy shoots the opposite end of the studio, Peter snatches the easel up and frantically wiggles the legs of its tripod base. Something clicks and they slide cleanly away. He tries to set it down carefully, but his foot hits it and nearly causes an easel avalanche.

“What are you doing over there?” Happy hisses. “Be careful!”

“Yeah, sorry!” Peter says, following it with an awkward laugh. His uncle rolls his eyes and turns away, giving Peter space to exhale in relief.

He follows a long painted-wood hutch, covered in assorted other tools, back to his aunt and uncle. There are tubs and jugs and knives and coils of wire and, thankfully, a soft heap of rags, because Peter notices that easel got paint on the side of his hand. He rubs it against a clean rag first, which does nothing, then against one with a weird smell that removes the paint instantly. Huh. If he had time, he’d investigate which of the containers had the same scent. He hasn’t even left the room yet and already, he’s wishing he could come back. This is crazy. It’s _crazy_. It has to be the fumes.

The last thing Peter looks at is the stool in the middle of the room and the empty easel it’s set up in front of. Like out in the woods with his Tarzan vision, he sees himself here. The difference is that those woods could’ve been anyone’s, anywhere. This is Michelle’s space and when he pictures himself in it, she’s here too. How could she not be? He can’t ask himself why he accepts that so quickly, why he doesn’t push back against his own imagination to shove her off-screen. What he sees is a long, slow morning. White light that turns fresh and green through the leaves. The smell of coffee and summer, with the windows that are currently shut pushed open. Mugs, warm in both his hands, and the stretch of his arm as he steps around behind Michelle―the artist on her throne―to place it next to her palette, reminding her not to dunk her brush in it by accident, like he imagines she does when she’s focused on her work. The way his eyes would lift to see the painting in progress, knowing he’s the only one who has this privilege, even as his free hand comes down to rub the tense back of her neck. Jesus. Peter bolts from the room.

He can’t shake it though, the realization that he could’ve been here with her. Could’ve spent the weekend or the summer or, if things went well, his whole fucking life up here with Michelle Jones. She offered him the beginnings of that. Maybe, as his girlfriend, she would’ve invited him to visit. Maybe he would’ve made the drive and surprised her, letting himself in with his own key, like Betty has. How many times would he have walked through her studio by now, if he’d said yes and they’d gone out back in February? How many times would he have woken up to this view, eaten breakfast looking out over the lake he hasn’t seen in its entirety yet? How many times would he have been able to take up space here with her, where she must still miss her family? How many times would they have kissed one more time before the sun went down?

No. He... _no_. Not in this timeline. A near miss though. Yeah, a near miss.

Following the sound of his aunt’s voice, Peter walks down a short hallway and emerges into a spacious room at the end of the house. Here, finally, is the lake, visible through the trio of large windows in the western wall. But now that he has a glimpse of the view May’s been lauding, he barely glances at it. They’re in Michelle’s gallery. His jaw drops. Betty laughs when she notices, but he can’t help it. _This_? This is what she does with those paints and brushes? These are the better-than-life colours she’s mixed on that range of palettes? How, _how_ has she been limiting herself to black and white cartoons with all of this inside her? The wide swath of natural light―though the sun hasn’t yet rounded the house, so he can only imagine how spectacular the room looks in late afternoon―makes everything so _clean_. It’s like a miracle, after the sublime madness of her studio. Peter staggers forward.

“It’s something, right?” Betty prompts, clearly pleased. She must be proud of her friend. She looks it, with her hands clasped together and the expectation of receiving second-hand praise written all over her face.

“It’s...” He can’t channel his thoughts, can’t even pick a direction to approach first. Luckily, May intervenes.

“Come look at this one,” she says, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

She steers him up to a familiar face. It’s Liz Allan. Well, it’s Liz’s portrait. He stiffens a little in surprise before leaning in. The painting’s smaller than many of the others in the room, but Peter doesn’t get the sense that it was done to communicate insignificance. Using his enhanced eyesight to compensate for his lack of art knowledge, he can see that this one’s been done in a slightly different style, with more tiny strokes, like Michelle was feeling her way across the portrait inch by inch. It tells him that it’s older than some of the bigger, more eye-catching pieces. The other thing that provides a clue to the painting’s age is how happy Liz appears. Peter steps closer without his aunt’s guidance. He’s sure, with her obvious skill, that Michelle could do a portrait of Liz looking happy any day of the week, but he doesn’t think it’d be as kind as this one. The little flicks of the brush and the pose―from the shoulders up, a teenage Liz smiling as she pushes hair back from her face, the broad trunk of a tree behind her head and blue sky past that―say this was done by an artist who cared about her subject. Both women said they grew up feeling like sisters; yeah, he feels that too.

“Looks like her, huh?” May asks, moving close to Peter again to examine the portrait with him.

“This is Liz Allan,” Betty supplies from behind them. He looks back to see her cross the room from where she was talking to Happy, eager to impart information wherever it’s needed. “A childhood friend of the artist. She lives out west now, I believe. The two of them haven’t, um,” Betty fumbles her words and Peter wonders if she knows something too, “stayed close.”

Furtively, May raises her eyebrows to give Peter a significant look. Of course, Liz told May the whole story when they met at the compound in January― _Liz’s_ side of the story. Peter can only smile weakly back.

“This is a self-portrait the artist did the same summer,” Betty continues, pointing to a piece hung a few feet down the wall. There’s a landscape featuring the creek that might be the one Peter saw on the drive up to the cottage, but his eyes blur past it to the painting of Michelle. He swallows.

“I’ve heard lots about her, but I’ve never met her,” May replies. She studies the portrait. Peter wonders if she sees Michelle’s mom in it, a face she remembers. “Do you recognize her in this, Peter?”

“Oh, you know MJ?” Betty asks excitedly, drawing up next to Peter. “I can’t believe I’ve been referring to her as ‘the artist’ to a friend of hers.”

“Well, I...” _Does_ he know her? That’s a complicated question. Obviously, Betty didn’t mean it like that, but Peter’s thrown off for a second anyway. “I don’t know her as ‘MJ,’” he admits with a shrug.

“It’s the first self-portrait she did that she thought was good enough to hang,” she explains, “but look how pretty she is. Don’t you think?”

Does Peter think she’s pretty? This version is younger but equally serious-looking to the Michelle Jones he knows and his eyes are fixed it. He can see by the tension of her forehead that she was trying hard to copy her own face, maybe from a mirror? The obvious effort might be a sign of an amateur―that the intent to replicate reality ruled the portrait’s painting, rather than instinct―but it suits her. It makes Michelle’s beauty almost an afterthought, something she _had_ to include simply because she saw it there, like she included the off-center bookshelf behind her. He’s curious about whether that bookshelf’s still here, still filled with her books, in a room of this cottage.

“Yeah,” he breathes, “really pretty.”

“Who set this gallery up?” Happy asks, walking over and ending the sound of picture-taking. May rubs her husband’s back and leans into him, pleased by his interest. “Was the room always used for this? Great light.”

“As far back as I can remember,” Betty says. “Mr. Jones used three of the walls to display his photographs, but he gave more and more of it to MJ as we grew up. She was always working on something.” She laughs. “She needed the space.”

“And who is this?” May asks, catching Happy’s hand as they move along to the next portrait. “She’s too young to be Michelle’s mother, but there’s a family resemblance there, isn’t there?”

“You’re absolutely right! That’s Monica Rambeau, MJ’s cousin. She’s about ten years older than… except, well, there’s a bigger gap now because Monica wasn’t Snapped and MJ was...”

Betty trails off and May nods understandingly. Meanwhile, Peter inspects the painting.

It’s a later work, he thinks. There’s a surety to the brushstrokes that Michelle developed sometime between that teenage summer and whenever she completed this portrait. His aunt’s right―the shape of this woman’s face is a lot like Michelle’s, though there’s a lightheartedness that comes through her eyes that he’s never seen from the artist. Makes sense, since he’s never done anything to inspire her to look at him like that. For the first time, he’s really wishing he could.

Betty’s telling his aunt and uncle what she knows about Monica and her impressive career. Flight? Expensive technology? Taking daring risks to push the limits of what’s considered possible? All of that reminds Happy of Tony, so Betty has a very engaged listener.

“Does Monica make it up here much?” Happy asks.

“When she can, which isn’t more than once a year, as far as I’m aware,” Betty says.

“What about Michelle?” May wants to know. “She was living near my nephew in New York for a while. Is this just a summer place for her?”

“MJ definitely loves being here in the summer, but she comes up whenever she can. This past winter was actually the longest she’s been away in quite a while. She was helping a friend get her business established, I believe.”

“That’s right! Wanda Maximoff’s restaurant. I didn’t realize Michelle was so instrumental in that.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Betty says emphatically. “She does so much for her friends. Trust me, the number of times MJ’s given me a hand with something, offering to run these tours for her was really the least I could do in return. We help each other out.”

“You’re not...” May begins. “Sorry, maybe this is a rude question.” With an encouraging smile, Betty gestures for her to continue. “You’re not married? Not that any woman needs a man to help her out,” May clarifies, giving her husband a gentle poke with her elbow, “but it sounds like you and Michelle rely on each other quite a bit.”

Betty laughs, clearly not insulted.

“We really do. No, neither of us have anything serious going on in that department. We’ve been pursuing our careers, keeping up our family homes,” she says, waving a hand around to indicate the cottage they’re standing in. “Not that we’re against it, speaking for myself.”

“I bet it can feel isolated up here over the winter,” May guesses.

“It’s actually the summer when I think about it the most. MJ always used to come up with her family and friends, a big group of people. Though she’d never say it, I do wonder if she finds it lonely, being here by herself. She might even live up here fulltime if she had somebody to share this place with.”

Happy and May continue around the room as Peter hears himself blurt, “She’d miss the peace and quiet,” getting Betty’s attention.

“Believe me, Peter, she’s had enough of that for a lifetime.”

“Then maybe she’s already looking for somebody,” he says thoughtfully. Betty begins to look at him more closely and he panics, staring hard at a still-life of glasses filled with lemonade. Slowly, she shifts her gaze off of him.

“I hope MJ’s gotten started,” she agrees, “because it’ll take some time to find somebody who deserves her.”

“You’re a good friend.” It’s her Ned-ish-ness, but that compliment would be too confusing, so Peter keeps it to himself.

“I’m sure anybody’d say the same.” He feels his eyebrows rise as Betty goes on. “I mean, I’ve known MJ since I was a kid. My high opinion of her’s pretty well-founded.”

“Yeah, I guess it would be.”

Still, it’s strange to hear a person talk about Michelle in the complete opposite way to what he’s used to. The last time someone claimed to understand her because they were close from childhood also accused her of betrayal. Betty’s history with Michelle is a lot less dramatic than Liz’s, and significantly more believable because of it.

“Her mom was lovely,” May says, facing another wall. Betty and Peter join her. “Not just her looks. She was a sweet person.”

“She was,” Betty agrees. “MJ’s so much like her.”

She shows them around the rest of the room, giving anecdotes about the work when she can and pointing out details she’s evidently had numerous opportunities to observe. Peter gets why Michelle picked her for this; Betty does a great job, meticulous and full of admiration for the artist. That’s what he wants to hear more about―Michelle, not how windy it was when she painted this picture or how many hours she shut herself in her room to finish that one. Luckily, with such an interested group of visitors, Betty needs almost no prompting to talk about her friend. And it’s all good.

May pulls Peter aside and whispers to him, “Does that sound like the same Michelle Jones that fucked up Liz’s life?”

“Not really, but maybe we’ve got our facts wrong.”

“How? Liz told us about it herself.”

There’s no chance to explain further because Betty’s leading them out of the gallery. They’ve made a full circuit of the room, but Peter hates to leave it. He exits with a sigh and Betty shows them additional paintings hung in two empty guest rooms. The volume of work is astonishing. What stops Peter in his tracks isn’t one of Michelle’s paintings though, it’s a black and white photograph.

“These were taken by her father,” Betty explains. “Monica adores her late uncle’s work, so that’s why MJ had so many framed for this room. It’s where her cousin stays when she visits.”

Probably all the shots of birds. That’s what Peter imagines Monica enjoys so much, since she likes to fly, but the one he’s zeroed in on is of Michelle. Like her painting of Liz, her father’s photograph of her radiates attention and care. It’s definitely Michelle, just Michelle as he’s never seen her. She’s seated in front of a white (or another light colour, he can’t tell in black and white) wall and Peter steps closer and closer, fascinated and striving for comprehension. There’s nothing unusual about the room or especially spectacular about the light hitting the subject. No, it’s all in her eyes, looking like she darted them to the camera at the last second. That look and the indication that she’s about to smile. He’s almost waiting for her to do it. The shot is magic. Peter’s against robbery―he’s prevented a hell of a lot of them―but he wants so badly to take the frame off the wall and carry it home with him. There are so many iterations of Michelle in this place and none of them are chilly or rude or arrogant. None of them have made him step back, only closer. Bizarrely, he feels like he’s been looking for this picture of her since they got here and while Betty and his family navigate around the bed to check out the rest of the artwork, he’s frozen in place. No, not frozen― _rooted_ , like the trees. This is the girl who would only do harm by trying to help, only inflict hurt by trying to shelter her own vulnerability, only lose friends if they wanted to be lost. It’s her father’s lens that shows Peter he doesn’t need to be convinced of the kind of person Michelle is, has always been, by anyone else.

They’ve seen it all, every room of the house Michelle allows to be toured by strangers (usually strangers). Betty leads them out under a sky of racing clouds. Peter wonders if it’ll rain, then the sun emerges again. It’s just unpredictable spring weather. May’s asking Betty about the trail system in the surrounding woods and Happy wants to know where the closest place to get a good lunch is, so Peter slips away for a minute. He’s not trying to be sneaky, he feels like he needs to clear his head after being in the cottage.

He circles the house and bounds down the hill a little, trusting his hiking boots not to catch on a root and his Spidey-senses not to send him flying if they do. He’s aiming for the creek, the direction he thinks it’s in, when he comes swinging around the side of a tree and sees movement. It’s too close to go unseen or to avoid seeing who it is. Just the same, Peter skids to a stop, looking down the hill, as Michelle freezes, looking up. They stare at each other. He’s sure his face was a little pink already, but it’s hot as hell now and she’s blushing too. When Michelle shifts, he realizes she has a folded easel tucked under her arm and a paint box in the other and strides down to give her a hand.

“I’m, uh...” How does he say he’s spent the last hour in her house, staring at her work? Michelle surrenders the paint box to his grip and adjusts the easel into a better hold.

“Hey, Peter,” she says quietly.

Her voice isn’t totally steady, but she managed a regular greeting, which is better than he’s done.

“Hey, Michelle.” He glances backward and realizes how far down the hill he traveled. The house is high above them. “So, you were, um...”

Still facing her, Peter’s gaze drops to take in Michelle’s hastily braided hair, the raincoat hanging open over a pair of overalls smeared with dried paint, and the straps over her shoulders.

“Painting,” she supplies. She does a half turn to show him her back. The straps attach to a collapsible camp stool. “En plein air. I try to get outside on good days.”

“Where’s the painting?”

“Back there. Couldn’t carry everything in one trip.”

“I’ll help you.”

They take what they have up to the house, placing it by a backdoor that wasn’t part of the tour. It must lead to a room he hasn’t seen. There are whole parts of this cottage that she lives in and he has no idea what they look like. He can’t get rid of the thought as they glance at each other nervously (he thinks) and head down the hill again. It’s not a comfortable silence. He’s looking at her from the corner of his eye, comparing her face to the portraits he was recently staring at, and rediscovering the absolute horror of being here, in her private space. It feels so wrong. She probably hates him. The last time they saw each other... God.

Retrieving her painting and palette―the only two items remaining―definitely doesn’t require two people. The items are small, resting against a tree with indents in the soft ground nearby to show where her stool and easel were. Michelle shrugs, like maybe she’s sorry she made him come all the way down here with her and Peter shrugs back, like maybe his feet would’ve followed hers anyway. On the way to the house, she attempts conversation, asking him how his family is, what he’s doing in Vermont (but not in an accusing way). Peter has no idea how he responds. His mind’s a staticky fuzz.

When they arrive at the backdoor the second time, they both reach for the knob. Michelle’s hand jumps back to let him turn it for her and they stand there for a minute with the door wide. Eventually, Peter’s arm twitches forward and his mouth opens to offer to carry her equipment into the house, but the action seems to startle her. She dashes inside and lets the door slam behind her. He’s still, registering nothing but his pounding heart and the supplies scattered over the rough brown doormat, before it occurs to him to leave. Abruptly, Peter turns and walks back to the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so anxious to hear your thoughts on this chapter! I know I already hyped it up in my endnotes last week, but I really loved writing this one. Just the thought of Peter delicately (for the most part lol) exploring MJ's creative space and trying to find little clues about who she is in every detail gives me all the feels. Feels at maximum! Hopefully you're all as primed as I obviously am for their reunion (take two) next chapter! Speaking of the next chapter...
> 
>  **IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT:** There will not be a new chapter of _For Now, We May Remain Silent_ next week. I'm participating in Spideychelle Week and will be posting one-shots every day from June 21st - 27th. The next update of _FNWMRS_ will be two weeks from today!


	22. The Woods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "She longed to know what at that moment was passing in his mind; in what manner he thought of her, and whether, in defiance of every thing, she was still dear to him." - _Pride and Prejudice_ , ch. 43

“Hey, guys,” Peter greets the trio of his aunt, uncle, and Betty. His voice is shaky to his own ears and May looks like she wants to ask him why the hell he’s wearing the expression he can feel on his face, but she’s too thoughtful to draw attention to it.

He doesn’t contribute much to their conversation, and probably nothing coherent―thoughts almost entirely on the encounter he just had with Michelle―before Betty’s saying goodbye and heading to her car with a wave. Peter waves back in time. He really does think she and Ned would get along. Funny, the kind of people you run into without even trying. It’s been a while since he’s met somebody as pleasantly straightforward as Betty. If everybody were that easy to read... well, Peter likely wouldn’t be here right now. But he can’t say for sure. Maybe his near miss was as close as they would’ve ever come―and he’s not thinking about Betty.

Michelle has to be figuring he’s a total psycho by now. Showing up at her home and snooping around. She’ll think he planned this trip just to see her again, and who knows what sort of conclusions she’ll draw from _that_ idea? She might be watching him from one of the windows right now. With that thought, Peter puts his back to the house and accepts the granola bar his aunt digs out of the cooler in the backseat of the car. He leans against the trunk, chewing, as his relatives discuss afternoon plans. Why did he have to walk down the hill? Why couldn’t he have stayed in the driveway? Michelle might have seen him through the window anyway, but he wouldn’t have seen _her_ and therefore wouldn’t have known she was home. Then, it basically could’ve never happened. He wouldn’t run into her anywhere else (though maybe he should quit assuming that), so he’d be blissfully ignorant forever instead of antsy and bewildered.

Why did she even speak to him? If she shoved him down the hill, he’d be less surprised. Simply ignoring him would align better with the behaviour he’s used to from her, but she was polite. She was nice. She made conversation, even if it was far from effortless. Nothing required her to make any effort at all for his sake, let alone ask about his family, which has been a contentious topic between them, historically. Somehow, Michelle was both more wrong-footed and more human than he’s ever seen her. They said so little to each other the last time he saw her, right before she gave him that letter, and before that, they fought. Peter never would’ve guessed they’d meet again like this. He’s hopeless to explain it.

Rather than piling back into the car, after they’ve been fortified by snacks, May informs him that they’re going for a hike. “Here?” he asks meekly, but she strides off into the woods. Happy goes after her, and Peter follows his uncle. God, why can’t they just _leave_? Who put these trails here? Some kind of sadist who knew Peter would eventually be forced to walk them, suffering.

He feels better as they put a quarter-mile, then a half, between them and the cottage. At least he can stop imagining that he feels Michelle’s eyes on his back as he forges deeper into her property. If she didn’t see them head out on their hike, Betty probably called her to let her know they’d be out here. This is... sorta nice though. They’re heading downhill without wending towards Michelle’s painting spot. According to May, they’re making for the creek, though Happy’s arguing that’s farther to the east. Peter doesn’t care where they end up. At the moment, he’s just glad to hike. They reach a naturally downed tree and he hops up, walking along it.

“You think I can do a backflip off this thing?” Peter asks his uncle, bouncing a little to test the trunk’s springiness.

“I think your aunt’ll kill you if you break your neck,” Happy warns. He frowns, trying to work out how May could kill him if he’s already died from a broken neck, but his uncle gets his attention by saying, “Ok, fine, but do it quick before she sees.”

It’s Peter’s luck that he lands on a hollow branch that makes a huge crunch sound, causing May to whip around to look back at them with suspicion.

“What the hell was that?”

“A, um, a... a bird?” Peter offers.

“Yeah,” Happy agrees after giving him a look. “It was a really hefty, uh, robin.”

May totally doesn’t buy it, but she continues on as Peter and his uncle hiss at each other.

“A robin, man? Why didn’t you say something bigger?”

“Like what, an ostrich? That’s probably what _you_ would’ve said. You’re a terrible liar.”

“Are you suggesting I should get better at lying to _your wife_? Uncle Happy, I’m worried there might be trouble in your marriage.”

They terminate their bickering because May’s paused to have a drink from her water bottle. She wipes her mouth with her hand and points up into the trees.

“Look, Pete, is that a woodpecker?”

He has to squint and raise a hand above his eyes before he can see well enough to confirm it. The sun’s high in the sky now. May spots and identifies more wildlife as they continue on, but Peter isn’t able to muster much enthusiasm. He cares, it’s just... What’s Michelle doing right now? Is she in one of the rooms they walked through? Did she take today’s painting to her studio to work on it some more indoors? Has she found the easel he repaired? And what’s she thinking? That’s the big question. What and about whom. Is it impossible that it could be him on her mind? Does she still love him, or feel any degree of affection for him at all? Was that why she bothered talking to him, or did his sudden appearance just surprise good manners out of her? Maybe she’s more confident on her home turf. But she wasn’t _completely_ confident―Peter could tell by her voice. She was nervous. _Why_? Though it’s possible that running into anybody down there would’ve startled her, isn’t it also possible that only he, only Peter, could’ve made the colour seep across her cheeks like that? All he knows is that she wasn’t calm.

“Peter! Peter! Hey, Pete!”

He looks up to find his aunt calling him from off to his left.

“You’ve kinda wandered off the path there, hun. Wanna join us?”

Peter shakes his head, then nods, making his way over. Moving through the underbrush, he’s careful not to step on any plants. No need to disturb Michelle’s surroundings any more than he already has.

It’s only in the moments that they stop moving that he can escape his thoughts of her. Should be the opposite, but his uncle happens to be really entertaining. Peter snorts when May halts then again and motions to her husband, who _pulls a pair of binoculars out of a pouch hooked to his belt_. Something about the action just looks so _goofy_. His aunt shushes Peter (apparently, he’s scaring the chipmunk she spotted) and he has to cover his mouth to smother the laughter.

“My dad’s gonna love this,” Peter whispers to Happy, grinning.

“You just keep your mouth shut. I don’t need Tony making me some kind of… of… Iron Fanny Pack.”

Peter wheezes at that and his aunt scoffs in annoyance, chipmunk vanished into the woods.

“There’s a million of those little things out here, sweetie pie,” Happy consoles her. “You find another one.”

She looks from him to Peter and makes a zipping motion across her lips. They both mouth, “Sorry.”

May eases up after a while though; it’s unrealistic, Peter thinks, for them to stay quiet for the rest of the time they’re out here, however long that’s going to be. They spy bird nests and hear the tinkling noises of baby birds calling for food. There’s a whole range of them that only Peter, with his enhanced hearing, can make out. They must be high up, or well-cocooned in a thick nest. So many things have made their home here. Walking into a grove farther along, they find boxes fixed to some of the trees

“Birds?” Peter guesses. 

“Bats, I think,” his uncle responds.

Having overcome his brief embarrassment at being laughed at for his little binocular pouch, Happy’s hitting his stride. He claims to want to walk the entire property line once they reach the creek, which apparently Betty told them is demarcated by a chain-link fence. May warns about the danger of blisters from new hiking boots and Happy’s ambitiousness is quelled slightly. To cheer him back up, she suggests they see how they feel when they reach the creek.

They’ve been winding somewhat, sidetracked by bird calls and Peter’s inattentive wandering, but the feeling of the ground under their feet changes at last. It’s softer, wetter, and the forest is giving way to more low, green plants, plus plenty of prickly yellow and brown stalks that leave seeds and burrs caught on their clothing as they tramp through (there’s no other option―sometime over the winter, Peter assumes―last year’s growth was weighed down and bent across the path). Past that tangle of scratchy stuff, the ground dips abruptly and there’s the creek. May lets out a noise of triumph.

There isn’t really a bank, but there are large stones in the shallow water, so they wordlessly and unanimously decide to each pick one and stand on it while they drink. From their bottles. Nobody’s ready to be quite _that_ one-with-nature. There are frogs in there and Peter sure as hell isn’t drinking a frog’s bathwater. There’s a bridge across the creek too, if anyone’s ever felt generous enough to call it that; it’s made up of branches, roughly the same length and thickness, laid close together to span the channel. The second he sees he, he smiles, landing on the theory that Michelle made it when she was young, maybe with Liz or Betty, maybe alone. The engineering might be crude, but he’s not here to judge her. Which is a first. Anyway, it holds up when he steps onto it. (May has to discourage Happy from following with a quick hand to his chest.)

Peter would stay here―just for a little longer―because it’s warmer in this low spot in the land. He’s unbuttoned the jean jacket he has over his hoodie. Between the sunlight that penetrates this part of the property more easily with the thinned tree cover and the exercise to get down here, he’s on the warm side of comfortable. If he had a lounge chair or something, he’s pretty sure he could lie back and take a nap. The flowing water and tap of the busy woodpecker are the perfect white noise.

Their bladders are the spoilsports. It’s been a few hours since they left the hotel and, under May’s watchful eye, they’ve done a great job of keeping hydrated, which means they all need to pee. So much for Happy’s grand plan to explore the whole property. They won’t be going any farther than the creek and on the way back, they’ll be sticking to the path. The shortened route probably won’t do any more than cancel out their slower pace (it’s mainly uphill to return to where they started), but it’s the best they can do. The only thing that delays them on the way back is May’s interest in maple syrup. With all the sugar maples in the area, she’s curious as to whether any of these trees have been tapped. Although they didn’t see any buckets or spiles, there’s a fair amount of acreage here, so it’s a possibility, May thinks.

Peter’s peering up into the trees as they hike gently uphill and when he lowers his gaze a little, he sees Michelle. It’s almost as startling as it was before, but this time he has more warning. She’s farther away and seems to have seen them too. Actually, it looks like she’s heading right for them. Is that why she came back out here? To find them? Could this seriously be intentional, after that skittish run-in? Ok, Peter decides. This time’s gonna be different. He can be calm and normal and put sentences together and think about the words he wants to speak before letting them leave his mouth and only hearing them afterwards. In between deep, regulating breaths, he draws his aunt and uncle’s attention to their approaching... host? Technically she is their host, just an unwitting one. Or she was. She’s clearly stopped being unwitting and she might even decide to stop being their host and is coming down here to throw them off her property. But that’s, like, worst-case scenario.

When she reaches them, with a hand held up in what’s not quite a wave, Peter finds she’s the same. Not the same as he’s used to her being, but the same as she was between her painting spot and the cottage’s backdoor. Meaning, she’s polite, making an effort to speak first and keep the conversation going. His aunt could probably take things from here―she’s awesome at talking to people and everybody likes her―but Peter’s determined to improve on his last performance. What would be the right thing to say? Compliment her! That shouldn’t be too hard, given all the beautiful parts of her woods they’ve been hiking through. He starts to say how nice it all is, how thoughtful her stewardship in touches like the bat boxes and the cleanly delineated path to keep them (mostly) from crashing through protected habitats, which is when it strikes him that too much admiration might make it sound like he’s angling for an invitation to come back here and intrude on the forest, and on Michelle, again. Peter stutters to a stop. He feels his face heat and hopes it looks like the result of physical exertion.

In the vacuum, she catches his eye, then looks past him at his aunt and uncle, and says, “And... are these your relatives?”

It kinda seems like an insult at first, like, _Peter, you idiot, are you gonna keep talking or will you eventually introduce me to the people awkwardly standing there with you?_ Then, he grasps that it’s the reverse. She’s made it so, so clear in the past that several members of the Stark family she’s familiar with have consistently rubbed her the wrong way, and yet, she’s ventured out to meet more of Peter’s family. If they’d been with him the first time he strode carelessly into the woods, he’d have thought Michelle was only asking for an introduction because she had to. This is different. This is her choice. She left the cottage on purpose to find them. He’s... pleased that she made the effort, but he still bites his lips together to conceal his smile after everyone’s been introduced.

She could still decide that’s plenty of socializing for her and say whatever would help her walk straight back the way she came, or cut through the forest. She must have dozens of secret routes, discovered and rediscovered every summer since childhood. Rather than doing that, she falls in next to May and the four of them continue back to the driveway. Peter and Happy are walking ahead and he can hardly stand it. The awareness of her being right behind him is driving him crazy; he can only stop taking darting peeks back over his shoulders when his uncle glances over at him and gives him a look that says Peter’s acting like a real weirdo. Thankfully, it’s not worry that’s making him this twitchy. He’s happy, thrilled, that Michelle’s so swiftly at ease with his aunt. He wants to be able to see it―the ease, the expression on her face. He loves May and he’s never been prouder to be related to her than he is right now. She’s generous and smart and hard-working and, most importantly at the present moment, behaves nothing like his dad. There’s no reason Michelle shouldn’t like her. Even though he can’t see them, Peter can hear them, and he’s smiling to himself as they walk. _Thanks, May_ , he thinks over and over.

His aunt continues to have maple syrup on the brain and she takes this opportunity to see if Michelle can confirm her earlier wonderings about tapping in the area. Not only does she confirm that some of her trees are part of the production, she offers to show May what she can of the process. Apparently, Michelle doesn’t run her own syrup operation, but she sells sap to a company that does. They take a slight detour―which turns out to actually be a shortcut―so that Michelle can show May a few of the working trees. Peter’s aunt is thrilled.

“We might never get her home again,” Happy jokingly whispers to Peter as they stand off to the side.

Listening to May and immediately taking action to satisfy her interest is such a simple thing, but the fact that he knows Michelle has to be doing this for him (via his aunt) gives it so much meaning. Doesn’t mean he has a clue what he’s done to deserve it. Maybe she’s just helping out a former acquaintance because she’s in a good mood or something, though that isn’t really typical for her. He doesn’t want to believe that their fight on a Tribeca rooftop could change her behaviour so significantly. People aren’t usually that receptive to being called out or informed that their stupid actions have had stupid consequences, which was pretty much how he talked to her then. Somebody as proud as Michelle wouldn’t be able to feel the same about him after that. Right?

Eventually, they reach the cottage and Michelle invites them inside. The Hogans don’t argue ( _bladders_ ) and after their host directs them to the closest bathroom, she offers to refill the water bottles Peter’s holding for them in the kitchen. It’s a real kitchen this time, as in, a kitchen that’s never spent time as a darkroom and he glances around her living space when they enter. At the sink, they’re silent as Michelle runs cold water and Peter passes her the bottles one by one. Their hands brush on the last one and they look away from each other quickly. He’s starting to turn his head to sneak another glance at her when his aunt calls his name from down the hall and he jumps.

“PETER! WE’LL MEET YOU OUT BY THE CAR!”

“Alright, May!” he calls back.

Blushing for some reason, his gaze shifts to MJ and he blurts out a string of words that more or less indicate he’s going to use the facilities before he leaves. He strides to the washroom, furious at himself for reverting to his previous idiocy. _Think, Peter_ , he reminds himself. _Think and then speak_.

He expects Michelle to be in the driveway with Happy and May, since he thoughtlessly left her holding all of their water bottles, but she’s right outside the washroom door when he comes out. He nearly turns right around and ducks back inside. _Come on, Spider-Man_ , he thinks. It’s an old reflex he hasn’t felt in some time.

“Sorry,” she says, “I just, um, here.” She shoves two of the three bottles into his hands and doesn’t move away from him. Was the hallway this narrow on the way in? Peter feels like his eyes are wide as they meet hers.

“We didn’t know you were around,” he says hurriedly. It doesn’t seem like there’ll be another chance to blatantly state that he isn’t stalking her. “May read about the tours online, and then your neighbour―”

“Betty.”

“Yeah, Betty, she let us in, so I’m guessing she didn’t know you were here either.”

“That makes sense,” Michelle agrees. “A taxi dropped me off last night. She probably didn’t see that. I was with Wanda, at her hotel. She’s here visiting. So is Brad.”

She says the second name without enthusiasm and Peter wonders if the two of them ever really got along or if they were just allies out of necessity when surrounded by so many strangers. Mainly, he concentrates on the mention of Wanda. Is Michelle remembering how her best friend featured in their discussion of a couple months ago? Peter accused Michelle of making Wanda’s decisions for her, Michelle accused Peter of having a brother incapable of feeling love for her friend. What a fucking mess. That’s definitely what _he’s_ thinking about.

“And my cousin,” she adds abruptly. “Monica. She’s here too. I know she’d want to meet you, if you’re in the area for a while?”

It takes a second for him to comprehend that the question isn’t about the length of his vacation. She’d like to introduce him to a member of her family and she’s unsure of his answer. Possibly, she wants him to say yes. There is a sorta hopeful look on her face that Peter doesn’t think he’s imagining. If Monica wants to meet him, it can only be because of something Michelle’s told her about him. Which means she talks about him. Which mean she must think about him, sometimes. So she doesn’t hate him for that night on the roof. There’s his definitive answer.

“Yes,” Peter says. “Absolutely.”

They exchange shy smiles and then, like she’s just noticed her proximity to Peter, Michelle steps away and he follows her out of the cottage. He’s giddy and jittery. Happy too, he thinks. He might need some room to determine that. There’s a dried stripe of pale-yellow paint across the back of her overalls, diagonal to her spine. Peter almost puts a hand out to trace it.

His aunt and uncle aren’t by the car, but at the edge of the hill, where Happy’s taking photos under May’s direction. She calls back to make sure it’s ok with Michelle that they do this and immediately receives her permission. Peter’s never heard her voice at that volume before―it sets his heart pounding. Just another little piece of Michelle he’s picked up by being here.

Because his aunt’s doing such a thorough job of capturing the scenery, Peter and Michelle are left standing next to the car for several minutes. He stows the water bottles back in the cooler and the car door bangs with loud finality when he shuts it, making him cringe. What does he say now? He doesn’t know about her, but he didn’t think they’d have to say anything else to each other (besides ‘bye’) and he’s dangling in this weird space where it feels like the conversation ended already and they’re still here. When Peter glances at her though, she looks just as unsure. He realizes he _wants_ to talk to her, really wants to, and why shouldn’t he while there’s still time? He can’t talk about his family, can’t talk about her friends, can’t talk about NYC... most things he thinks of would be a bad idea to bring up. He almost mentions that he’s been working out more―that’s like a hobby and hobbies should be neutral territory, shouldn’t they?―until he remembers lifting weights at the Park. Michelle would probably think he was trying to remind her of that. Would that be bad to bring up? Well, there is the way she stared at his arm. _Oh_. Right, thanks to her letter, he now knows she was attracted to him by that time. Ok, better not say anything that could allude to that particular memory. She might think he’s flirting with her and that’s definitely not what’s going on here.

Instead, he talks about the start of his family’s vacation. They’re only on day two, so he doesn’t have a ton of material, but they discuss Burlington for a while. Michelle’s been there many times and seems to share May’s interest in the historic architecture. Peter’s sorta proud of himself for being able to hold a conversation on it. He actually read the brochures at each place and the mounted plaques and it’s paying off. She asks about the length of the drive and he automatically emphasizes that it wasn’t too tiring, not that far from home to here. Then, he sees the look on her face and registers that he doesn’t need to convince her that the distance isn’t a bad thing. Michelle Jones likes long drives. He can tell.

Happy and May approach at last and Peter’s torn, antsy with wanting to leave and stay at the same time. He was just starting to feel like maybe he and Michelle have things to say to each other. Not accusations and justifications. _Normal_ things.

The three of them get back in the car and Peter rolls his window down, resting his elbow in the frame, because Michelle hasn’t gone back inside. They don’t speak and at the last second, she thrusts her hand towards him. She was still holding one of the water bottles. It makes him laugh and he catches her smile before Happy executes a three-point turn and they’re heading down the meandering driveway. Maybe Peter glances back. Maybe Michelle’s still standing there.

 _Ready or not_ , he thinks, and on that unspoken cue, his aunt and uncle begin dissecting their morning. And analyzing Michelle. Their words couldn’t be further from the ones Peter’s sure he spoke after encountering her for the first time. They like her, though everything they’ve heard prepared them not to.

“So, Michelle was nice,” Happy says. “Thoughtful of her to show that tree stuff to May.”

“ _Tapping_. You know it’s called ‘tapping,’” May says, giving her husband’s shoulder a gentle shove. “ _I_ thought she seemed nice as well. A little, you know, reserved maybe, but I think that was just her personality.”

“I picked up on that. Still, she went out of her way for us and she really didn’t have to. It’s not like she and Peter are best friends. You guys barely know each other, right?” he checks, finding Peter’s eye in the rearview mirror. He gives his uncle a smile of noncommittal.

“Since we’ve compared them before,” his aunt carefully prefaces, “I was thinking about how different Michelle is from Liz Allan. She’s not as easy to talk to, or as outgoing, maybe not as... I want to say _charming_ , but without that comparison, Michelle seems...”

“Nice?” Peter asks tentatively, recycling their earlier adjective.

“Yes, nice, and not horrible.”

“Who said she was horrible?”

“Well, hun, _you_ kind of implied it. You used to get so wound up when I mentioned her,” May reminds him. Peter shifts in his seat and looks sideways out the window. “What was the problem there?”

He’s not going into their full history here in this car with his aunt and uncle. The best he can do is backpedal a little.

“We started getting along more while I was staying with Ned,” he says with a shrug. “Michelle was visiting relatives in the area and we just... had a few chances to talk. Today was the nicest I’ve seen her though. Seen her _be_ , I mean,” Peter corrects hastily.

“Ah,” says Happy knowingly. “Hard to read, huh?”

But Peter can’t quite agree. He used to believe that, for sure, but now he thinks the difficulty was due to the fact that he wasn’t really trying. He thought he read her and made up his mind based on that single assessment. Though it was a huge mistake that he’s still moving past, there’s light up ahead and for the first time, he’s willing to acknowledge that he sees it.

“One thing’s for sure―I wouldn’t have connected the young woman we just met with the person who was so awful to Liz Allan,” May chimes in. “Michelle might be tough to read, but she doesn’t seem like she’d have _that_ in her. If anything, I thought she came across a little shy. Sweet though, under that exterior, and obviously very expressive when she wants to be. I mean,” she laughs, “look at her art! Stunning!”

“That’s what Betty said too,” Happy notes, navigating them out of the driveway and back onto the road after stopping for the sparse traffic. “Right? That MJ’s sweet, like her mom was?”

It’s jarring to hear his uncle use Michelle’s nickname. Peter’s never done that, except in his head sometimes, when he messes up.

“That’s true,” May eagerly agrees. “Although, some of that could’ve just been her speaking as an old friend. You don’t always notice the changes in the people closest to you.”

Peter wonders if he should intervene to help his aunt and uncle form a conclusion from the two disparate views of Michelle they’re struggling with. He decides he should. He’s not going to perpetuate Liz’s lies by keeping quiet. Carefully, he implies that he learned a few things during his weeks in Tribeca. That there could be another interpretation of what occurred between Michelle and Liz. That Liz wasn’t any more innocent in what really happened than Michelle was guilty. Does he trust the person he heard all this from? Yeah, he does.

May’s thrown, he can tell. For him, finding out the truth was like having his world flipped upside down―and then bounced like a basketball a couple of times―so her reaction’s scaled down from that, but it’s similar enough for her not knowing the details. Luckily, she doesn’t ply him for those because she’s less invested. May sits with it for a while as they drive along and soon enough, Happy’s fiddling with the radio, May’s scanning the road signs for tourist traps, and Peter’s reintroducing them both to his road trip playlist. After the fresh air, exercise, and excitement (composed of a moderate amount of dread and a lot of happiness), he falls asleep in the backseat like a little kid. A little kid with a Led Zeppelin lullaby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! It's so great to return to this story after the whirlwind of Spideychelle Week, and right as the tide of Peter's feelings for Michelle is beginning to turn!
> 
> In the next chapter, the possibility of our couple creating something new together continues to flourish! We'll see familiar faces as well as the introduction of Monica Rambeau.


	23. Beautiful Views

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "It was evident that she was much better acquainted with Mr Darcy than they had before any idea of; it was evident that he was very much in love with her." - _Pride and Prejudice_ , ch. 44

With their history, asking for Michelle’s phone number would have sent a certain message, but the morning after seeing her at her cottage, Peter’s wishing he’d just done it. Ignored deeper meanings and gotten her number for convenience. She wants him to meet Monica (he assumes she still does and didn’t wake up today regretting her offer to make that introduction) and he doesn’t know where or when that’s supposed to happen. Somebody has to have her number―his mom or Vision probably, because they’re thorough. And there would definitely be a number on the website where May read about the tours of her art studio. Peter can’t imagine Michelle would have put her cell number on there, so maybe it’s Betty’s number and she could give him Michelle’s. Unfortunately, the idea of asking someone else for her number feels even more awkward than asking Michelle directly. Basically, Peter’s a nervous wreck this morning.

Of course, when he goes to their hotel’s breakfast room and May sees him, she can tell right away. She asks him what’s going on with a low voice and semi-privacy (Happy’s gone to get a cup of coffee) and Peter tells her that Michelle asked him to meet her cousin. Or that her cousin wants to meet him. Or whatever it was that she said. It’s hard to remember Michelle’s exact phrasing because the memory’s at the center of an emotional twister and it’s like the wind whipping past makes her voice tough to hear. Maybe a cow sails by. He’s taking hasty bites of a bagel, though he can barely tell he’s holding it because his hand feels numb, while his aunt tries to understand him. Thankfully, the best course of action is more apparent to her than it is to him; when Happy returns to their table, May suggests spending another day near and/or at Michelle Jones’s cottage. Happy’s easygoing about it and Peter, for a brief moment, thinks he’s narrowly avoided his aunt’s probing questions.

Wrong.

May catches him when they’re heading back to their rooms to get ready for the day and says everything he’s afraid to acknowledge as even a possibility. Essentially, that Michelle making a thing out of asking him to meet her family means she likes him and even if meeting Monica isn’t meant to be a big deal, the expectation that Peter will be returning to Michelle’s home to meet her certainly is. This isn’t like bumping into each other because they picked the same deli for lunch, or spending time with her in the living room of the Park because his brother’s bedridden upstairs. Michelle found him bumbling around her home and _still_ wants him to come back.

“Peter,” his aunt says, “I had no idea there was something going on between you two. Why didn’t you say anything?”

He thinks he stammers out just enough to insinuate that there _isn’t_ anything going on between him and Michelle, and that he does―finally―realize what it looks like from the outside. Communicating anything about how he’s actually feeling just seems monumentally overwhelming though, so he’s glad when May drops it and follows Happy into their room.

In his own room, Peter paces. He’s embarrassed by his embarrassment and that doesn’t help him calm down at all. It’s unlikely that both he and his aunt misunderstood the significance of Michelle’s invitation, but it’s not impossible. Maybe Michelle fucked up (the way he readily admits he would’ve in her place) and she was just trying to be polite, or expected him to say no to meeting Monica. Ugh, he doesn’t believe that though. Peter buries his face in a pillow and groans for a while before forcing himself to get up. They’ll just go over there and see what happens. (Man, he hates this plan.) The second Peter resolves to act as normal as possible is the second he dooms himself to being unable to achieve that.

They make the drive again. This time, the tones around them are a more yellow-green, as deeply saturated as pickles floating in a jar. There wasn’t any rain last night and the sky’s almost cloudless. The air still has a typical early-spring coolness, but there are moments when they aren’t driving in the shadow of a stand of trees and sun floods the car. It just starts getting hot as they pass back into shade. Beyond temperature and colour, Peter isn’t overly aware of his surroundings, all of his focus concentrated within. As Happy’s car winds up the laneway to Michelle’s cottage, Peter has a sensation of being reeled in, like they’re on the end of a fishing line, inevitably drawn back to the rod.

Before they park, he spots Michelle and a woman around 40 years old (who has to be Monica) standing outside the cottage. They must see and hear their car, but neither looks surprised by the visitors, which makes Peter feel slightly better. Though he’s tempted to hide behind his aunt as the three of them exit the car, he resists. Michelle is _his_... whatever she is. His acquaintance, his friend, his near miss. It’s his responsibility to go first. As he shakes hands with Monica, he remembers Liz telling him how much this cousin was like Michelle. That was supposed to be a sly criticism, yet minus the layer of scorn, Peter agrees with Liz’s words. Monica is like Michelle―not too talkative at first, but sincere in how alert and engaged she is. When she does crack a smile, once all three visitors have been introduced, it’s broad and genuine and reminds him of Carol. Also like her mother, she seems more laid back the longer they speak. Peter was a little afraid that she’d be more like Michelle there and maintain an impenetrable wall, peering over it at other people without letting anyone in. But Monica doesn’t _observe_. Though she and Michelle both have a level of intensity that he finds a little overwhelming, they channel it differently. He figures out Monica’s outlet when Michelle barely mentions planes and her cousin begins speaking enthusiastically about her missions, careful to leave out confidential details.

The five of them are deciding whether to talk in the house or out on the deck overlooking the lake when another car pulls up. Actually, a taxi. May and Happy look at Peter, who looks at Michelle, who says, “Oh, yeah, Wanda’s coming too.”

He doesn’t have much (any) chance to react to that before Wanda’s approaching them. Any frustration Peter had with her was erased by her best friend’s letter, when she made it abundantly clear that it was never Wanda’s desire to leave Vision behind. Even if he had still been holding onto some resentment, her friendly, honest smile would be eliminating it entirely. Not only does Wanda smile, she impulsively hugs Peter, which amazes him for a second; another thing Michelle told him in her letter is that her best friend seldom initiates touch because she worries about people fearing her powers. So, she trusts him. Peter hugs her back.

Wanda asks how he is and about his family, without inquiring about anyone in particular, and though he’s sure they can both feel the way she’s dodging Vision, she does seem sincerely interested and pleased when Peter tells her everyone’s (again, keeping things general) doing well. He introduces her to his aunt and uncle and notices a keenness on both sides. Of course, with Vision staying with them for those weeks in Queens, Happy and May know this woman’s significance. They’ve seen their nephew pretty broken up over her. Luckily, with her quick smile and her high, surprisingly rough laugh, Wanda makes a great first impression. For her part, she just seems happy to meet more of Peter’s family.

They decide on the deck and tromp up the stairs together, then into the house. Reaching the door to the deck requires passing through rooms and up a short staircase that Peter’s never seen. This is Michelle’s private living space, not for display. Is he holding his breath? Of course not. His aunt and uncle are walking right behind him, so he can’t pause to take it in, or even look around too much. Soon, Michelle’s sliding open a glass door and they’re all stepping outside again. There’s the lake. Peter realizes they must be right above her gallery and part of him wishes he could slip quietly away and go back there. That room is such a fascinating, immersive way to experience MJ. _Michelle_.

It’s a long deck, if not overly deep, and the chairs on it are mostly spaced out in a line. Everyone rearranges things a little, dragging their chosen seat into a configuration that’ll let them talk more easily. Although May has mentioned the beauty of the view more than once, Peter finds himself positioning the back of his chair to the railing. There are other things to look at. When Monica offers to switch seats in case he’s bothered by the drop behind him, he self-consciously mentions that he was Spider-Man. She dispels his embarrassment slightly, saying she knew but forgot. He starts overexplaining, stating that even if his sticky fingers didn’t manage to get purchase on the railing or the side of the building, the drop to the ground wouldn’t do much to him. He doesn’t usually discuss this stuff and feels like a bit of a weirdo. As if she understands, Wanda chimes in and laughingly promises she would catch him with _her_ powers before he had a chance to hit the ground. _There_ , the glance she gives him seems to say, _now they’ve been reminded that we’re both weirdos, and nobody cares_.

May’s less concerned with how Peter’s spot puts his back to the railing than with how it puts his front to Michelle Jones. Monica might be angled between them, but Peter and Michelle are right across from each other. May gives her husband a look and sees that he’s noticed too. Though he might not have been part of the conversation she had with their nephew this morning, Happy isn’t blind to chemistry. Funnily enough, most of that chemistry seems to be coming from Michelle―the woman they so recently decided had kind of a reserved personality. She has her best friend on one side of her and the cousin she rarely sees on the other. Doesn’t matter because she hardly looks away from Peter. May sees that her nephew’s shying from eye contact with their host, so he might still have a ways to go. There’s something there though. There’s definitely something there.

Peter’s trying to socialize like he’s never socialized before. Once time, back in NYC, he saw a bunch of people having a rooftop party and, as he watched, the barrier they were leaning against at the edge of the roof gave way. He had to swing over and fire webs to catch each of the falling people and the larger pieces of the debris. The situation he’s in now feels like that, where he has to make sure nothing hits the ground. He wants to do a good job as the ambassador between his relatives and the other three people, he wants to figure out how Wanda feels about Vision these days, he wants to be funny and smart so that Monica will like him, and... Michelle. Well, where she’s concerned, Peter mainly wants to not screw up whatever equilibrium they might be attaining. If it even is equilibrium. When he looks at her too long, he thinks they might have been climbing a tall mountain and what he thought was a chance for lasting equilibrium is really just a narrow peak and they’re about to fall hard and fast down the other side. It makes him dizzy.

He worries a lot and, in one case, is honestly terrified, but while Peter’s wrapped up in his anxiety, things are going better than he suspects. Wanda’s so happy to see him again, Monica isn’t too old to think that meeting Spider-Man is really, _really_ cool, and Michelle’s always had an easy time (too easy a time) finding his demeanor unassuming, his intelligence refreshing, and his smile magnetic. She can’t tell anymore how much of that shows on her face. She can’t remember what it felt like to hide it.

Whenever Peter and Wanda talk, he has Vision in the back of his mind. He wonders if she does too. He’s not sure if they’ve ever been together without his brother there, often sitting or standing between them. Does she look more content now than she did then? Thanks to Michelle, he knows Wanda struggled after leaving the Park and he thinks he maybe sees some lingering sadness in moments when she’s not speaking, looking out towards the lake. Since her, Vision sometimes wears that same expression. Or maybe this is just Wanda at rest in nature. Could be that her occasional stillness is her accessing some peace that Peter’s not privilege to, heart refusing to beat at a normal rate. He gets one question answered that he never would’ve asked―Monica brings up her dating life and asks if Wanda’s seeing anyone special. While his aunt and uncle lean together, May pointing out something in the distance, Peter trains his eyes over his uncle’s shoulder, at the exterior wall of the cottage, and hopes no one can tell how hard he’s straining to hear the answer.

“No,” Wanda says, “no one special.” Her voice plummets off that first ‘no’ and Peter really believes she must be thinking about Vision.

Cautiously, he glances back towards her to see if anything in her expression confirms his assumption, but his gaze skips to Michelle instead. She’s staring straight at him. If Peter were only a teensy bit more bumbling than he is, this is where he’d topple backwards off the deck. What he should definitely do is glance away... she’s giving him this _smile_ though, of what seems like quiet satisfaction. Peter’s puzzled. Slowly, he shifts his gaze to Wanda. _Wanda_. Michelle never mentioned that her friend would be coming. It’s not like she needs to clear her guest list with him―this is her property and Wanda is her best friend―but she must have been planning to invite her. Wanda had to get a taxi from town, which would require forethought. Why not say she was coming? The timing could be a coincidence. Peter sighs softly. If he wasn’t so bent on lying to himself, he’d have to acknowledge that Michelle orchestrated this. She put Wanda and Peter in each other’s paths. He doesn’t completely understand why yet, but he’s grateful. It makes him consider that it might not be so tough after all to give Wanda and Vision another shot, have things play out differently, reset the scene without turning back the clock. (Dabbling in time travel isn’t encouraged in his family―strictly a life-or-death-of-the-entire-universe Hail Mary.) Even if Michelle’s doing no more than trying to put that idea in his head with this chance encounter and that soft little smile, well... it’s incredibly kind.

Peter’s emboldened and skirts closer and closer to a mention of Vision as he reengages Wanda in conversation. Monica offers to switch seats with Wanda when Happy calls across to her with a question, and now Peter and Wanda are side by side, reflecting on her time at the Park. He feels Michelle there too, in those memories, as acutely as he feels her eyes on him in the present.

“It’s been too long, Peter,” Wanda says gently.

She tells him the precise date and the weather conditions (that big snowstorm had just tapered off). _Right_ , of course she remembers! The last time they saw each other was at her restaurant’s open house. But it’s not the open house she’s focusing on, it’s that she saw _him_ that day and, left unspoken, his brother. He smiles. With the least subtly he’s ever seen her use, Wanda finally asks him if all of his siblings are still Upstate at the compound. And she almost says ‘brothers’ instead of ‘siblings.’ He notices. Hell yeah, enhanced senses. Hell yeah, second chances.

Though he’s feeling good about renewing his friendship with Wanda, and the clues that tell him Vision still crosses her mind, Peter’s skittish of Michelle. She’s hanging back in the conversation to let Wanda and Monica talk, so he’s usually looking at one of them. When he does look at her, it’s in quick snatches and she seems calm, happy, social with her guests. It’s more of what he saw yesterday. Two days in a row of Michelle interacting without sarcasm or glaring or abrupt coldness. Two days of friendliness versus two surprisingly intense nights in Tribeca, versus two months of seemingly justified dislike Upstate. When her cousin teases her, Peter watches her tease back. When Wanda folds in half with laughter, Michelle smiles like she’s enjoying that more than the funny story May’s telling. Although it doesn’t appear effortless, Michelle repeatedly engages Peter’s aunt and uncle in conversation. She’s thoughtful, attentive, and open―even her body language. Instead of crossing her arms or sinking grouchily into her seat, she angles forward, arms apart, to balance her elbows on the arms of her chair. She leans from side to side to speak to Wanda or Monica. And she _touches_. Aside from when they were with Carol, Peter’s never seen Michelle welcome physical contact. Now, he watches her squeeze her best friend’s hand, briefly stretch to lay her head on her cousin’s shoulder. May bends forward and reaches around Monica to tap Michelle’s knee and get her attention and Michelle doesn’t flinch. Is this how she is, or how she’s learning to be? With a white-hot flash, Peter remembers the grip of her hand on his arm when he almost slipped on ice leaving the Park. The sensation this memory causes is like his hair standing on end, then that settles down inside him―heavy, thick, and comforting―as he recalls dancing with her. His face heats. He can blame the sun if anyone asks why he’s red, right? Though it’s really only warm enough to keep them from absolutely needing to go sit inside? He can lie, can’t he? Just this once? He can tell them what’s making him blush is almost anything other than the recollection of Michelle’s hips under his hands and the way he’d still swear he felt her curious fingertips on the back of his neck.

If all of this is new―the frequent smiling, the energy for prolonged conversation, the giving and receiving of touch―he has to wonder who it’s for. Wanda and Monica would understand if she was more withdrawn, and May and Happy are very new acquaintances. There’s nobody here to impress. Peter has a funny feeling, like his hunch about how Wanda happened to be here this morning. Wanda, but not Brad, who’d probably have a scornful remark or two about how easygoing Michelle’s being, though he’d only say it out of jealousy, wanting her to put her hand on _his_ shoulder or grab _his_ hand or smile at the sight of _him_ laughing. But Brad isn’t here today. Peter smiles.

It’s fortunate that May and Happy say they don’t want to impose and that they have plans for lunch already, or else Peter might’ve kept sitting there, not realizing time was passing. They’ve been on Michelle’s deck, breathing air that’s a blend of earthy tree-smell and tangy lake-smell, for the shortest hour and a half of Peter’s life. It’s hard to pull himself up out of his chair. Although May insists that the rest of them don’t have to get up, they all troop back through the house together. As they’re descending the front stairway outside, Peter starts to panic over the question of when he’ll see these people. When he’ll get to exchange Carol stories with her daughter, or make progress on bringing Wanda and Vision back together, or ever, ever, ever see Michelle again be the way she was this morning.

They get to the driveway, ready to depart, and Michelle blurts out that maybe they could come back for dinner. Not that night, but soon, before they drive back to New York. While Peter’s staring at her, sort of stunned and grateful, she drags her cousin into the proposition. It’s almost like she’s pushing Monica to say the things she’d like to, giving her wordless suggestions that have Monica saying that they’d like Peter and the Hogans to come for dinner―no, they _want_ them to come―no, they _really_ want them to come. Peter can see that she’s confused and trying to oblige Michelle, though he’s sure it feels weird to be inviting guests to the house where she is herself a guest.

When Michelle quits editing Monica’s invitation with her eyes, May opens her mouth to respond. She tries to catch her nephew’s eye; this whole ridiculous, adorable, convoluted request is clearly for his sake. Peter’s busy studying his uncle’s odometer through the car window, apparently completely absorbed. His aunt has to guess, and her guess is that he wants to say yes and doesn’t know how. With that assumption, she glances at Happy, who nods readily. He was having an interesting conversation with Monica earlier about her career trajectory, from pilot to instructor and advocate. May accepts for the three of them and they agree on dinner the day after tomorrow.

“We could eat down at the lake,” Michelle says, and Peter looks up at her sudden comment. “There’s a little rock beach...”

He nods at her and before the silence around them can get too oppressive, Wanda swoops in and hugs him goodbye. Peter laughs and hugs back―thankful, befuddled. She says she’s glad they’ll have another chance to talk so soon and he agrees. He’s determined to do everything he can on Vision’s behalf, if Wanda seems as comfortable talking about his family as she did today. They aren’t fooling each other, he thinks, and if she’s ready to be reminded of his brother, then he’s ready to do the necessary reminding.

* * *

He, May, and Happy use the rest of their day to explore natural features in the area, fitting in some moderate hiking. They head back to Burlington and, before going out for dinner near their hotel, do a supply run. Weather permitting, they’re planning to hike up Camel’s Hump tomorrow. Peter likes high places―being able to see for a long distance, the sound of the wind, and enough fresh air to hopefully help him go to dinner at Michelle’s the following day with a clear head. He’s proud of himself for finding a way to manage everything he’s feeling so he can’t freak out and play sick at the hotel while his aunt and uncle go back to the cottage. Who knows what they’d think if he tried that. They both know something’s up with him and Michelle, he can tell, and he keeps forgetting that they aren’t in on the entire secret, that they never read her letter or heard her say those surprising words to him. Until Peter can experience the head-clearing properties of crisp mountain air, he spends the night hanging out in his room while Happy and May leave the hotel to get a drink.

They don’t go out to talk about him, which is a fleeting worry he has, just to spend a private evening together. Besides, neither his aunt nor his uncle thinks there’s anything to discuss there. It’s obvious that Michelle Jones is head over heels for their nephew. What is there to speculate about?

Meanwhile, Peter, who thinks there’s _plenty_ to speculate about, is trying his hardest _not_ to speculate. A long shower didn’t help (probably the worst plan he’s ever come up with is trying not to think about a woman who may or may not be in love with him while he’s naked under a spray of hot water), so he’s on to Plan B―drowning out his thoughts with a marathon of baking shows on the TV in his room. Paying attention is a challenge. Nothing about someone making delicate pastries from hand should remind him of the rustic landscape around Michelle’s cabin. He shouldn’t be watching a baker tap powdered sugar over a croissant and think he’s just caught a whiff of the woods after a night’s rain. There is _zero_ reason for Peter to glance around the bedroom during the commercials and wonder where Michelle is, which room of the cottage she’s in. Is she as restless as he is, maybe in her kitchen, maybe making herself a cup of tea? Did she work on the painting she’d started when he found her on the hill behind her home? Was she in her gallery as the sun was setting, the first room to turn dark? Wherever she is, whatever she’s doing, whether she’s still awake or went to bed early... is she thinking of him?

Peter turns the volume way down on the TV and rearranges the rotund hotel pillows so he’s not as propped up. He’s been so afraid, thinking he did damage he would never have a chance to fix. It’s taken time to see that he wasn’t only afraid of the harm to his own self-image (he’s scared of being the bad guy, like she called him on) and even more time to accept the thousand tiny signals Michelle’s been sending that say _I don’t hate you_. What do they have if they’re not holding anything against each other? What is this feeling that makes him want to stay near her when he knows there’s nothing else to feel sorry for? The last two days, Peter’s gone past tolerating her and the wild, untethered feeling he has when their eyes meet. He doesn’t have to _endure_ her behaviour because he enjoys it. Unlike the way Michelle is with Wanda, he isn’t smiling unreservedly every time Michelle laughs, but he isn’t looking away either. That space in between is, as his dad would say, where Peter operates, and he kinda likes it there.

He feels lucky, he realizes, to have been loved. And to have kept being liked enough to be allowed to see Michelle again after rejecting her. She brought him into her home (after that first time, when he just showed up for a tour) and invited him back _twice_ , gave him the opportunity to get to know the few relatives she has left, and reserved judgement on his aunt and uncle, though she hasn’t been the biggest fan of his family. No, Peter can’t continue lying to himself that she _likes_ him, that she likes him _enough_ to do this or that for him, when he hasn’t seen her put any limits on what ‘this or that’ might extend to. What she feels has to be more than that.

There’s a checklist Peter makes. He’d like to do it entirely inside his head, but he’s too scattered and excited and needs to see it on paper. He shuffles up in bed and reaches for the drawer of the nightstand. Pen and paper. Though he’ll never hand this piece of hotel stationary over to Michelle the way she gave him that envelope, the missives have definite similarities. Who says a sloppy checklist and a lengthy explanation of prejudices can’t both be love letters? Not Peter Parker. He writes and realizes simultaneously― _Michelle, I respect you. Michelle, I admire you. Michelle, I’m flattered that you saw something in me to love. Michelle, I want... Michelle, if you’d let me, I’d... Michelle, what can I..._

 _MJ_ , Peter writes, swallowing hard, _how do I make you be in love with me again?_

* * *

Prior to leaving the cottage, Michelle offered to give May a better look into the world of syrup. The company that processes the sap produced by her trees and turns it into maple syrup is a short drive away. If May wanted, they could check it out in the afternoon, then meet back up with her husband and nephew at the cottage for the planned dinner. Naturally, May agreed, so the day of their dinner―when two Hogans and a Stark ease into the car on legs slightly stiff from climbing Camel’s Hump the day before―they drive to Michelle’s cottage for a third time. Michelle’s waiting in her driveway in an unzipped raincoat, jeans, and low rainboots; there was a sudden shower at noon. She greets the three of them and Peter has an urge to grab her by the arms and make her stand still until he can figure out exactly what to say to her besides an abrupt ‘hey’ and ‘bye.’ Instead, he lets her pass with desperate eyes. His aunt gets back into the car on the driver’s side, Michelle takes the passenger’s, ready to navigate to their destination. Peter waves limply as May points the car back down the long driveway.

Dinner’s supposed to be down on the beach and Peter and Happy have a short debate on whether they should strike out through the woods in whichever direction seems likeliest to lead there or go up to the house first to see who’s around. The second plan is Happy’s and, logically, it should be Peter’s too, but he knows who’s coming today and would maybe like some extra time to brace himself for the encounter. Monica’s here, staying with Michelle, and Wanda’s back... but so is her brother. Brad might be up in the cottage right now and there’s no way he’s going to be beside himself with joy at the sight of Peter, though he probably already knows he was invited. When they were at the Park together, Brad was always trying to catch and hold Michelle’s attention. If he knows anything at all about the feelings Michelle’s expressed for Peter since then, there might be an attempted murder today.

At the front door, they encounter a friendly face―Betty leans out to push the door open for them and waves them inside. They follow her to the kitchen. Peter’s been here once, filling water bottles with Michelle at the sink. He takes a deep breath, remembering that she’s out with his aunt, so he doesn’t have to be nervous that she’s about to walk into the room. Although, why should he be nervous?

It turns out they’re just in time to help carry everything down to the beach. Monica pauses in loading food into a cooler to say hi, then a little more than that when she seems to remember that she’s the temporary host until her cousin returns. Happy starts talking to her immediately, asking how he can help, but Peter, while anxious to be useful, doesn’t say much. Wanda and Brad are across the kitchen and haven’t come any closer. She calls out to Peter while all Brad manages is a stone-faced nod.

With food and drinks in various containers parceled out between the six of them, they leave the house. Happy observes that one of the coolers is full of raw meat and wonders how they’re going to cook it. In response, Wanda smiles mysteriously, but doesn’t leave them in anticipation too long. Her hands begin to glow red and she levitates the barbecue that’s sitting at the side of the cottage and guides it along ahead of them down the path to the lake. Peter’s frozen in place for a minute before his mouth and his limbs wake up again and he tells her how _fucking awesome_ that is. She says something humble, about it being her job as a chef to find a way to cook their food. They share a look of understanding. Sometimes it’s just nice to be around someone who’s guaranteed to _get it_ , the casual display of supernatural abilities. In solidarity, Peter challenges her to take the lid off the cooler Happy’s carting along and levitate a single can of pop out of it. (His uncle’s close enough to overhear this plot and, though he rolls his eyes, he doesn’t bother trying to rein Peter in. The kid’s on holiday.) When Wanda does it, making the can hover a good fifteen feet in the air, Peter springs up and snags the pop right as she releases it. He lands to see Brad putting a ton of effort into ignoring him, so he opens his drink and slurps it extra-loud.

They make it down to the rock beach―which is a really pretty spot, Peter thinks, with how the trees ring the water―and Happy and Monica mostly carry the conversation. He overhears her describing her efforts to demand equity in pay and treatment for women, particularly women of colour, within the Air Force, inspired first by the prejudices her moms faced and later by her personal experiences of discrimination. In between minor stunts, Peter and Wanda contribute with getting the food out and rearranging the aging outdoor furniture that he assumes Michelle leaves down here until it gets cold in the fall. There’s a fire pit nearby too, which explains the sack of split logs Brad hauled down. Peter kinda thought he was just doing that to get his muscles straining before Michelle arrives, though he is wearing a heavy sweatshirt at the moment. He may yet contrive a reason to whip it off because, ugh, _Brad_.

Things are at their smoothest while they’re all working together to get the site set up, but once they’re still, not lighting the barbecue yet, it gets awkward. Betty has a certain May-ishness in how easily and eagerly she engages them all in conversation, but Peter wishes his aunt were here because he feels most comfortable with her. Especially since Brad gives him this disdainful look every time he speaks. Peter begins, maybe inevitably, to wish Michelle were here too. He doesn’t need her to protect him from her best friend’s asshole of a brother, it would just be nice to witness her saying something subtly cutting to Brad that got him to quit looking at Peter like that. Of course, he’s also nervous about seeing Michelle. How long would Brad’s dickheadedness distract her from the way Peter just knows he’s going to keep glancing at her? Maybe it’s better that she notices. Or maybe not. He can’t decide.

Eventually, Brad ventures to ask how Vision’s doing. Peter’s cold stare communicates a lot more than his short response.

They hang out for around half an hour before Betty, an apparently natural master of ceremonies, decides they can start putting food on the grill. She knows the distance to the syrup place and that May and Michelle shouldn’t be too much longer getting back. From what Peter can tell, everyone’s relieved to have a small amount of activity again. While Monica checks the propane tank on the barbecue and Happy and Brad hover nearby, Wanda walks to the edge of the water with Peter and they skip stones. With his enhanced strength and hand-eye coordination, he’s fairly good at this. Not compared to her. Wanda sends a stone zinging across the surface of the water all the way, presumably, to the opposite shore without even picking it up in her hand. When the others call her over to start cooking, Peter’s ready for a break in having his ass handed to him. They both laugh about it and scramble back across the rocks. He brushes his hands off on his jeans and, as he looks up, sees Michelle leading his aunt down to the beach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are going so well for Peter and Michelle!
> 
> Would be a shame if anything were to interrupt all the progress they've made...


	24. Worse News

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "‘I am quite well, I am only distressed by some dreadful news which I have just received from Longbourn.’" - _Pride and Prejudice_ , ch. 46

How many times does Peter have to promise himself that he’ll act normal before he’s forced to accept that this feeling―like he’s just been flipped upside down on a roller coaster going at top speed―might _be_ his normal for whenever Michelle walks into a room (or onto a secluded beach)? He reminds himself that he wanted her here, wished for it less an hour ago. Now, in the midst of this sensation, he thinks he would’ve maybe preferred Brad’s dirty looks. Specifically, his _cold_ dirty looks because, with Michelle here, Brad’s definitely still giving Peter dirty looks, but they’re furiously intense, like he wants to throw Peter on the barbecue and close the lid.

And Brad’s not the only one looking at him. Although Happy, May, Monica, Wanda, and Betty are all more subtle about glancing between Michelle and Peter, he can totally see them. They’re all guests here, yet Peter’s the one attracting attention. He’d like to play dumb, but he knows why. If he weren’t at the center of this and it was Ned who organized an outdoor dinner, spur of the moment, because a girl he used to like came into town (somebody like Betty, maybe, Peter thinks again), Peter would be suspicious. It’d be great if the atmosphere weren’t so weird.

When Brad’s not glaring at Peter, he’s positioning himself in front of Michelle, always finding one more thing to say. Even though Brad keeps glancing at him like Peter’s already ‘won’ and he’s pissed about it, his behaviour suggests that he has faith in his ability to secure Michelle for himself. It’s really fucking stupid. (So why is Peter annoyed?) He looks particularly sour when Michelle sidesteps him to herd Monica and Peter together, saying just enough to facilitate a conversation. It’s obviously important to her that they get to know one another; Peter gets that upside down feeling again. Luckily, they do get along and have plenty to ask each other, occasionally circling back to Carol when their conversation begins to stall. Peter’s forgotten about Brad when he butts in and interrupts.

“Hey, Peter, I heard Liz Allan left Albany. Wasn’t your family, like, obsessed with her?”

He laughs unpleasantly. Peter sees what he’s doing―trying to undermine any appeal Peter might have for Michelle (though she’s not in their little circle, Brad spoke loudly enough that she probably heard) by implying that Peter’s hung up on another woman. It’s a cheap shot in more ways than one. Brad’s a fucking imbecile because the person those words are going to hurt the most is Michelle. Sure, having the name ‘Liz Allan’ sprung on him unsettles Peter, but the mention of her will dredge up so much shit for Michelle. Brad’s superficial comment has penetrating cruelty.

“Not really,” Peter says, just so Brad won’t ask a second time. “We actually didn’t know her very well at all.”

 _Until Michelle told me everything_ is what goes unsaid. Peter’s certain she’ll understand what he left out though and he turns his head to find her, standing beside Wanda at the barbecue. She’s looking right at him. There’s gratitude in her eyes, but he can see by the slackness of her expression that she was totally unprepared for Brad’s comment. Meanwhile, next to him, Monica’s shifting and looking like she wants to say something to Brad. After all, she was involved in Liz’s scheme too, being appealed to for information and resources after Michelle turned her away. Monica’s respect for her cousin’s privacy and peace of mind seems to win out and she takes a long drink instead. Brad evidently knows nothing about that part of the story and not enough about the full history between Liz Allan and Michelle Jones.

Because Peter’s reaction is so mild, Brad seems to get bored and drops the subject. He wanders over to the grill―possibly to see his sister, possibly to see Michelle―and Michelle darts away to let him have her spot next to Wanda. Peter almost grins. Not only did Brad just fail to convince Michelle that Peter’s into Liz, he actually _repelled_ Michelle and sent her straight over to Peter. It’s more than enough for Peter that Brad witnesses how fast Michelle’s back moves away from him; he doesn’t need to know about the small smile she gives Peter as she approaches. When they sit down to eat, Michelle sits next to Peter and Monica takes the place on her other side. Brad’s way over on the far side of his sister, while May and Happy are between Peter and Wanda.

Once they’ve eaten, they pack up pretty quickly to avoid bugs and the darkness that’ll come up any time with the sun threatening to slip down behind the hill the cottage sits on. Peter doesn’t know how it happens that he and Michelle are the last two to head back up, but they find themselves alone for no more than a minute or two. He lifts the bin containing their plates, cutlery, and empty cans and waits for her while she repositions a chair. Moving it reveals a can and when Michelle places it in the bin, the inside of her wrist brushes the back of his hand. She stares at him for a second (he’s staring back), then says they better hurry up. They don’t really talk on their way up to the house, just glancing at each other from time to time and almost always finding the other person glancing back.

Peter and his family head out, followed shortly by Betty, and Brad starts in on his bullshit. MJ doesn’t care if he sees her rolling her eyes. He criticizes things Peter said, what he wore, how he ate his hamburger―anything he can think of, apparently. Monica just gives Michelle a look and goes into the cottage with Wanda (the Maximoffs are staying longer and Michelle wishes it were only Wanda); Michelle’s happy to see that look. It says that her cousin also thinks Brad’s being a jealous asshole and that she doesn’t think Peter deserves this. Monica told her yesterday that she really liked Peter and Michelle tried not to let her see how much that endorsement meant to her. Oh, she’s happy for her cousin to recognize that she appreciates her approval, she’s just not ready to say out loud why that approval matters so much in this instance. Michelle doesn’t use the word ‘love’ a lot in conversation.

She and Brad go inside too and while she’s sorting the garbage from the recycling and Monica and Wanda are starting the dishes, he corners her to talk more shit about Peter. Doesn’t he get tired of this? What possible reason does he have for thinking that she’ll suddenly like him because he says awful things about someone? Well. She did kinda used to be that way too. Maybe she didn’t talk about Peter Stark in the kindest terms at the beginning there. But things have changed, _dramatically_ changed, and she has no plans to backslide, as hard as Brad’s fighting to take her back there. She only has to endure him for the rest of this evening. He can go ahead and get this ugly enviousness out of his system and watch how little it affects her.

“You think Peter was sick?” Brad asks. “He didn’t look so good. I guess he’s used to being indoors at their compound all day. Can’t handle a little fresh air.”

“I ran into him outside all the time in Tribeca,” MJ replies with a shrug. “Besides, I don’t think he _gets_ sick, with the super-genes or whatever.”

“Well, he can still get sunburnt. Either he’s allergic to the sun or his skin’s just so pale that it gets fried to a crisp. Looked awful.”

“I didn’t see any sunburn. He definitely had more freckles though, right across his nose. I love freckles.”

That trips Brad up for a few seconds, long enough for MJ to finish her task and walk out of the room. He chases after her.

“Peter’s not good-looking though.” He says it like a challenge. She just glances at him. “He’s short and... and... and there’s something weak about his eyes.”

MJ almost laughs at his attack on the way she once said Peter’s eyes were powerful. Is Brad serious right now? That’s the one opinion he knows for sure that she has about Peter’s appearance and he’s directly countering it? Why the hell would he think that was the way to go? God, he’s more twisted up about her liking Peter than she thought. Brad clearly can’t feel like he’s won with her staying silent and he prods her again.

“I can’t believe _that guy_ was Spider-Man,” he scoffs. “Or that you ever thought he was decent to look at.”

Clenching her jaw, MJ turns on him.

“Mhmm, it’s wild that I only thought Peter was decent. If you asked me now, I’d say he’s the most attractive guy I’ve ever seen in my life.”

It’s slightly disappointing that Brad _doesn’t_ ask, since he’s the one who pushed her to say it. Funny that she answered with something he didn’t want to hear.

* * *

While they were down at the lake, Peter noticed his phone struggling to get reception and turned it off. He only remembers to turn it back on after they’ve returned to Burlington. Happy and May invited him to go out with them, but he’s trying to give both them and himself some space―them for their relationship and himself for his thoughts―so he walked with them as far as the closest fast food place, bought himself some after-dinner French fries there, and headed back to the hotel alone. When a long message from Vision pops up on his screen, Peter stalls in the hotel parking lot. At first, he’s happy to hear from his brother. Then he starts reading.

 _Peter_ , Vision writes, _I attempted to call you, but as I was unable to reach you, this will have to do in the meantime. I do not wish to alarm you, so rest assured that we are all safe and this is not an emergency, but something unfortunate has occurred. In case you’ve lost track of the days while away, I will remind you that Harley was expected home from Boston yesterday. He failed to arrive. All of us assumed that he had extended his trip with his friend and was simply remiss in informing us. You and I are both aware that he was looking forward to this brief freedom from familial obligation, though he had been putting a moderate effort into staying in touch with Pepper before you departed for Vermont. Well. Late this afternoon, Pepper received a short email from Harley’s friend, checking to see if Harley had made it home, as he hadn’t heard from our brother either. I imagine Pepper was selected as her contact information is easiest to find online, rather than Harley having left his friend anything to assist him in getting in touch with our family. I’ll tell you precisely why I doubt Harley would have made this easy for him. According to his friend, Harley met up with a former acquaintance at a bar last night. Before they went off together―to the annoyance, though not the surprise, of his friend―Harley informed him that they wouldn’t be seeing each other at their hotel again that night, nor in the morning. His friend implied to Pepper that he suspected Harley planned to spend the night with this acquaintance and leave for home from wherever she was staying the next day. I was shocked by the identity of this acquaintance, though I’m sure you won’t be: Harley has disappeared with Liz Allan._

_Forgive me, but I’ve told our family just enough to give them to understand that this situation must be regarded as incredibly serious._

_Tony has located his car, still parked at the hotel Harley originally stayed at. A second signal revealed his phone to be locked inside. Thus, we have been unable to track Harley. It is possible that he remains in Boston, though, in my opinion, unlikely. Why should he stay when he probably believes himself to have a head start on us looking for him? Sadly, he is correct in that. I assume he has left the city and done so in Liz Allan’s car, very probably with Miss Allan herself behind the wheel._

_Without your input to counter my natural optimism, I’m afraid to say I’ve been hoping for the best. In my projections, this involves a joyride of a day or two, during which Harley revels in his break for a truer freedom (in that he takes it unobserved by his parents or any technological extension of them, namely FRIDAY) with a woman he’s developed formerly unrequited feelings for. I also imagine that Miss Allan is better than what you and I have heard her to be. Yes, Peter, I can picture the look on your face, but until we’re able to act on this matter, what other recourse do I have? I hope that Harley and Miss Allan’s fleeting excursion will be for purposes too intimate to record even the suggestion of here, rather than any attempt by Miss Allan to manipulate and take advantage of our brother’s personal wealth and connections._

_Tony and Pepper continue to execute every promising idea in an effort to find Harley and bring him home. Perhaps it is incorrect to feel this way, but I can confess to you, Peter, that I’m glad they are ignorant of Miss Jones’s account of Miss Allan. It would only aggravate their fears._

Peter stares at Vision’s words, stunned. Then, he tears himself away from his brother’s best-case scenarios and fantasies in which Harley’s a more responsible, less girl-crazy version of his regular self. Vision’s right to assume Peter doesn’t see the situation the same way _at all_. Sometime while he was reading, the bag containing his fries slipped out of his hand to hit the pavement, but he doesn’t pause long enough to pick it up, just fumbles with his phone to call Vision.

“Hey, I―”

“I assume you read my―”

“Yeah,” Peter agrees. They both pause. “Man, Vision, what the hell happened? I mean, I know, but...”

“I understand you. Everything’s a bit of a mess and we are equally muddled.”

“Well, what’s going on? Have you heard anything new since this afternoon?”

“Nothing distinct. However, there has been cause for speculation.”

Although Harley left his phone behind in his car, Vision tells Peter that Liz has posted a couple of tantalizing hints on her social media―which Tony has FRIDAY monitoring. The first is general and suggests a big change to her business will be coming soon. Peter and Vision agree that, on its own, that doesn’t necessarily refer to anything involving Harley. The second specifically mentions the anticipation of capital as well as physical resources and was posted late the night before, when they know Harley was already with Liz. That one doesn’t seem to have too many possible interpretations.

“But he won’t just give her whatever she wants, will he?” Peter asks his brother, desperately, as if he has a definite answer.

“I’m not sure. Harley has been rather... keen to command Liz’s attention. I think there is a danger of his trying to buy his way to an extension of her affections.”

“Until she has everything she wants and doesn’t need him anymore. If he gives in and writes her a cheque or signs a contract stating that he’s been commissioned to build anything for her... God, that idiot better not drag Stark Industries back into the weapons business. Dad’ll kill him.”

“Thankfully, the majority of his wealth is held under Pepper’s supervision. Harley hasn’t made any withdrawals from those funds. Though we may deem it prudent to freeze him out of certain accounts, we do not have the authority to do so. The only thing compromising Harley’s judgement is his... well...”

When Vision trails off, Peter supplies the word: “Penis.”

“Correct. And that is simply not a justifiable reason to request the rightful holder of that money be denied access to it.”

“So what do we do? If he decides to take out money and give it to her?”

“In that scenario,” his brother says cautiously, “we would have to hope for a contract.”

“But we don’t want him offering her anything else!”

“No, Peter. _Miss Allan_ would have to sign a contract, bringing her company under the Stark Industries banner.”

“Oh. Do you think she’d do that?” It’s the first real hope Vision’s given Peter and he paces as he waits for his brother’s response.

“Based on your communications with her, I believe that Miss Allan is interested in security. She seems to have taken risks for her business only because she felt she had to, to support herself. If she were to feel she had a chance to be in a more secure position, our knowledge of her indicates that she would embrace it.”

“That would be bad for us though, wouldn’t it?” Peter checks. “We can’t harbour her within SI when she’s doing things that are totally against what Dad’s company stands for. And the law,” he notes.

“The benefit to us would be control. We would be able to dictate that she cease the illegal side of her operations. It would be her trade-off.”

“Ok, but... how are we going to make her see any of that, let alone agree to it? It makes sense and it’s a savvy enough business move that Harley’d probably come up with it himself if his sole mission right now weren’t to sleep with her.”

“I agree. There is a manner in which we’d like Harley to get in bed with Miss Allan, but it’s purely metaphorical.”

“Good one, Vision,” Peter acknowledges, but his voice sounds weak and worried. “God! Fuck! I can’t believe that jackass is shutting us out like this.”

“Perhaps he’ll purge some of his desire for her and return to his senses.”

“Gross, dude.”

Vision stutters about not meaning his words literally.

“I doubt they will have gone far,” he says when he’s coherent again. “Miss Allan had only just moved into Boston. Presumably, there is much she left behind in equipment and personal possessions. She has no guarantee that Harley will do as she wishes. It therefore seems unlikely that she would gamble everything on his usefulness. I would theorize that she is currently indulging Harley, giving him the burst of freedom he sought, but intending to retract his leash before he can realize how short it really is.”

“What if she hurts him.” Peter says, suddenly, quietly. It’s too heavy a thought to lift into a question.

“She will _not_ ,” Vision replies adamantly.

“Morgan...”

“Morgan is understandably distressed, but she will see Harley again soon. We’re all going to make sure of it.”

Peter doesn’t have words to express his gratitude for Vision’s strength, but he can feel it propping him up.

“Ok, I’ll... I’ll tell May and Happy. We’ll be home as soon as we can.”

“Please know that we are continuing to make every effort to find him,” Vision says. “Traffic cameras, credit card payments. We have our eyes open.”

“Ok,” Peter says again, and hangs up.

He’s in such a confusing headspace, too mentally dizzy to feel around for his bearings, that when he sees Michelle walking towards him across the parking lot, he’s not immediately certain that she’s real.

“Peter?”

“Oh hey, um, what are you doing out here?” he asks, brushing his phone along the seat of his jeans twice before managing to get it into the pocket.

“I drove Wanda and Brad back to town in Monica’s car. Their hotel’s right across the street from yours, I guess. It’s quiet out here. I thought I heard your voice...”

She gets close enough to see under the yellow glow of one of the lot’s security lights and judge, Peter assumes, that he’s not exactly himself.

“Are you ok? You don’t look ok.”

He doesn’t have it in him to joke about that being an insult, especially when she reaches out like she’s going to touch his shoulder, though she ends up letting her hand fall before it can make contact.

“Yeah, I just have to, I have to call my aunt. Sorry. It’s urgent.” Saying the words reminds him and he fumbles his phone out of his pocket again. It slips through his fingers, but he snags it out of the air with his other hand before it can hit the pavement.

“ _Peter_.” Michelle sounds honestly alarmed now and she does touch him. It’s lower though, his forearm, and with her free hand, she eases his phone from his grasp. “Here, I’ll dial.”

“How do you know May’s number?” he asks, because she just taps it in instead of going to his contact list.

“She gave it to me this afternoon,” Michelle tells him without looking up. “Here.”

She hands the phone back and turns away to give him privacy. Peter wishes she wouldn’t; her grip was kinda reassuring. He almost asks her to hold onto him again, he’s actually lowering the phone, when he hears his aunt pick up at the other end. Without getting into details, he tells May that something’s happened at home. That nobody’s hurt, but that they need to cut their vacation short. Demonstrating her usual efficiency, she gets with the program and says they’ll be on their way back to the hotel in a few minutes. Apparently, they’d just ordered drinks and, as May speaks to Peter, Happy’s hastily paying their bill.

He ends the call and Michelle cautiously rotates to face him.

“Are you going to pick them up?”

“Can’t. Happy took the keys.”

“Ok, come on,” she says, reaching for him again. She tugs his arm. “I’ll drive you. Do you know where they went? Text May back and get the name of the place.”

But Peter’s shaking his head, starting to feel overwhelmed again. Michelle notices right away and releases him. This time, he grabs her hand, meaning to bring it back to his arm, but she twists her fingers through his and he accepts, distantly, that this is better.

“I don’t want to scare them when they get here,” he explains. “It’s good if I, if I have a few minutes to get my shit together, you know?”

“Yeah,” she agrees softly. “I know.”

Michelle glances around for a second, then stoops to pick up Peter’s bag of fries and gently pulls him over to the low concrete curb at the edge of the lot. The bag’s torn and it’s probably for the best that she tosses it into the nearby garbage can before lowering herself to the curb.

“You’ll get dirty,” Peter protests.

“I’ll sit on my coat.”

Michelle tucks the tail of her raincoat under her butt and they sit, stretching their legs out into the empty parking space.

“Can I get you anything besides some dirty French fries?”

Her thumb’s gently rubbing the back of his hand now and it’s so, so nice.

“No, I’m good. I’m...” Peter sighs. “I’m not good. I’m really worried.”

He looks sideways at her, searching her eyes for something he never thought he’d seek to find there: comfort. Michelle’s other hand closes over his, now trapped and warmed between her palms. She doesn’t say anything to encourage him to spit it out and he finds some peace in her silent patience.

“When you heard me talking,” he starts again after a minute, “I was on the phone with Vision. God.” Peter pauses to pass a hand over his face and rub his fingers hard into his closed eyes. “You’ll probably hear about all of this online soon. I don’t know if you know this, but my family’s kinda famous.”

She gives him a sympathetic smile in exchange for that pathetic joke and lets him continue.

“Harley took off. He went to Boston with a friend and he was supposed to come home yesterday, but he didn’t because he...” Peter looks down at their shoes―his chunky hiking boots and her dirty rain boots―then back up at Michelle’s face. “He ran away with Liz Allan.”

“ _What_?”

“We don’t know where they are because Harley didn’t take his phone and we’re assuming that she’s driving her own car. Vision says they probably haven’t gone too far, but that’s just a guess. If Harley had taken off with any other woman, this might’ve been embarrassing, especially right now, when my parents are working on restructuring the company and this kind of press is distracting, but it’s _Liz_. You’re the last person who needs me to spell out what Liz wants from Harley.” Peter kicks his heel against the asphalt dejectedly. “Same thing you told me she wanted from me.”

Though Michelle doesn’t respond, her hand tightens around his.

“This is all my fault,” Peter groans. “When Harley told me Liz was leaving Albany, I thought, great, don’t have to worry about that anymore. I never told anybody but Vision what kind of a person she really was, and then it seemed like it wasn’t going to matter! I thought the best thing to do was to let my family forget about her. Stupid.”

“Are you sure? Are you sure he’s with her?”

“Harley’s friend met her the night they took off. I’m sure he got her name, and he knew what she looked like. I’m assuming he told that stuff to my mom when he called her about Harley. There’s also the fact that Harley’s super into Liz and probably would’ve followed her to Boston on his own without this trip giving him the opportunity. I thought it was a dumb crush. I never thought he’d really...”

“It’s ok, Peter. I get it. If you want to feel stupid because you were duped by Liz Allan, get in line,” Michelle suggests hollowly. She sighs. “So, what are your parents doing about this?”

“A bunch of stuff. They’re trying to track him remotely. My dad would be out the door in a second if he thought he could do more on the go, but until they know exactly where Harley is, the compound has the most resources. If it were Morgan missing, he’d already be tearing Boston apart brick by brick looking for her. Harley’s twenty-three. Apparently, we have some expectations for his ability to get himself out of problems of his own making. I have no idea _why_. I’m sure my mom’s spending half her energy keeping my dad from summoning the Iron Man suit,” he admits, ready for Michelle to make a sarcastic comment about Tony Stark still pretending to be a hero or something.

“That’s nice,” she says instead. “It’s nice that he cares. He wants to protect you guys.”

“More than anything.”

Michelle lets go of his hand and cups her face as she turns it away from him. Peter doesn’t try to get her back; she must be thinking about what he just told her. If he had more natural tact, he wouldn’t have said anything. She doesn’t deserve to be reminded of Liz Allan out of nowhere. Actually, what she’s probably thinking is what a bunch of buffoons his family is. Was he talking to her about _publicity_? Fuck, she’s going to think he cares more about how his family’s name is treated in the media than his brother’s safety. The Starks are just a stinking celebrity sinkhole and maybe Michelle never entirely forgot about that, but she obviously compartmentalized it long enough to fall in love with Peter. That’ll be all over now. He makes so many mistakes, has meltdowns over bad press, and never manages to shake Liz Allan. That has to be the worst combination of traits Michelle would ever want to find in so much as an _acquaintance_ , let alone a friend or something more.

And even though his hands are shaking when he places them on his thighs and pushes up from the curb, Peter totally understands. He understands how he’s just disqualified himself from having a place in Michelle’s life. He understands, with the force of the asteroid colliding with Earth to wipe out the dinosaurs, that he’s in love with her. This woman sitting on the curb in her raincoat, her hair every shade of brown between yellow and black in the artificial light and real shadow. _Now_ he loves her, when he’s finished revealing enough to make sure she can never love him back.

Before he can get too selfish again, he remembers Harley. Peter swears quietly to himself and hears Michelle clamber up from the curb behind him.

“You probably want me to go,” she guesses. “This is a family thing. I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks.” He turns his head, but not enough to meet her eye. “Oh, um, tell Monica it was really nice to meet her.”

“Right, you’re going home. Tonight, do you think, or...? Sorry, that’s not important.”

 _Of course it’s not_ , Peter thinks. _There’s no reason for you to spend another second caring about the guy who turned out to be exactly who you thought he was_.

“I’ll see you later then,” Michelle says. “Or not, maybe. I hope you hear from Harley soon.”

He nods.

“Take care, Peter,” she adds very quietly, and he hears her move away.

When Peter gets up the nerve to look, he turns to spot her already on the other side of the road. He watches her get into a car and drive away. His eyes are overflowing with stress and concern for Harley. That’s all. Fine, he’s crying, and it’s because he’ll probably never see Michelle again. He takes a couple of pointless steps across the lot, like he’s going to break into a run and follow her car, then halts. They’ve been everything from judgemental strangers to whatever someone would call people who fall in love and almost get together but don’t. A dumbass, probably, in his case. He doesn’t think there’s a better word for a guy who forcefully rejects a woman only to cry when she’s gone.

With a violent sniffle, Peter reminds himself that’s all over now. He needs to focus on Harley. Happy and May should be back any time and it’d be good if he could offer them something encouraging. That can’t be what Vision said about having Stark Industries acquire Liz’s business, thereby rescuing Harley’s connection to her by forcing her to legitimize. The idea’s aspirational, but completely far-fetched. They can’t count on Harley holding firm against Liz ( _gross, gross, gross_ , Peter thinks, _not literally_ ), or that there’ll be time to intercept them and put the deal in place before she’s made some other agreement with him. Vision just likes the way it sounds because he’s so good at solving problems. Unfortunately, everyone besides him behaves too unpredictably for his models to pan out the way he projects.

The one thought Peter has in his more careless brother’s favour is that Harley isn’t doing this on purpose. Oh, he definitely sought Liz out on purpose and left Boston with her on purpose, but he’d never intentionally hurt their family or SI. Harley doesn’t know that Liz has a history of taking advantage of the people close to her and, beneath his own manipulative nature, really isn’t cynical enough to suspect the worst from anybody. Peter was suckered in by her easily enough and, even after he heard the truth, struggled to let go of his own conception of her. He ribs his brother about the impossibility of Harley getting a girlfriend, but it’s all playful bullshit. Harley’s got enough going for him without the Stark name and its accoutrements that he’d never need to question whether a woman liked him for himself. Right now, until Liz screws him over, he’s probably congratulating himself on getting the girl. Smug, naïve, lonely bonehead. Peter knows Harley’s been striving for something of his own. Something he’s worked towards and succeeded in, with no one holding him back. And, with all his ‘multiple girlfriends’ talk, he doesn’t really want to mess around, he wants a companion. It’s another way he’s like their dad.

When Peter gets back to the compound, he’ll do whatever he can. If his dad decides they’re going out after Harley, Peter will even put the Spider-Man suit back on. He’s confident that he could handle that now. It’s hard, not being home already, and having to wait to see what he’s going to need to do.

He figures he better stand under the light of the hotel’s awning so his aunt and uncle can see him, and he just reaches it when he spots them walking quickly towards him. May insists on listening and moving at the same time, so Peter hurriedly tells them everything Vision said (only more jumbled and probably dropping details here and there) and they make their way up to their rooms.

The three of them might be wired right now, but they’ve had a long day and they need to be rested before making the drive back. Though Peter’s antsy to leave immediately, he understands the logic there. His family at the compound is already doing everything they can. There’s nothing Peter specifically has the power to contribute at this point, and he can stay in touch with Vision until they get back for updates. He’s about to leave his aunt and uncle’s room for his own―with no idea how he’s going to get any sleep―when May catches him in the doorway.

“I’m sorry we’re cutting the trip short, Peter.”

“It’s been great, but Harley’s more important. It’s just a vacation,” he says with a shrug.

His aunt gives him a knowing look.

“If it were just a vacation, I wouldn’t be apologizing to you. You’d have to be a real brat to want to stay on vacation instead of helping your brother. I mean that I’m sorry to be taking you away from Michelle Jones. I wish we had time for you to see her and explain this in person.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

Peter goes to his room contemplating the fact that he _did_ get to see Michelle, and that, when it comes to desperate situations involving Liz Allan, she has a much more thorough understanding than he does.

The sleeping thing doesn’t work out. After brushing his teeth, Peter packs everything besides what he’s wearing and lies down in his clothes only to stare at the ceiling, wide awake and worried, for hours. He’s grateful when, at just past four in the morning, his uncle knocks on his door and says they’re leaving. Happy and May couldn’t get to sleep either. They check out and are on the highway before dawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, on the upside, MJ loves Peter's freckles. On the downside...basically everything else. The Starks and Hogans regroup in the next chapter and one of the kids cracks the Case of the Missing Idiot Brother wide open.


	25. Harley's Mess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The present unhappy state of the family rendered any other excuse for the lowness of her spirits unnecessary; nothing, therefore, could be fairly conjectured from that, though Elizabeth, who was by this time tolerably well acquainted with her own feelings, was perfectly aware that, had she known nothing of Darcy, she could have borne the dread of Lydia’s infamy somewhat better." - _Pride and Prejudice_ , ch. 48

“I’ve been thinking―” Happy says, cutting himself off with a yawn. It’s been silent in the car for over an hour and Peter, who was starting to doze off, jerks awake in the backseat. “―that Vision might be onto something.”

“Like what?” Peter yawns back at him as he straightens up in his seat and stretches his arms over his head as high as the roof allows.

“Well, Liz Allan’s taken a pretty bold step. It’s not exactly kidnapping, but she’s presumably encouraged Harley to leave Boston with her with certain implications for their...” His uncle takes a hand off the wheel to make a fluttering gesture. “... _relationship_. Even if she didn’t consider the consequences when they ran off, she’s smart enough to have started thinking things through. She’ll have realized that we’re coming to get our guy back and that her sketchy little tech company is no more of a match for Stark Industries than she is for Iron Man.”

“Right,” Peter agrees, rubbing his eye. He thinks for a second and accepts that he’s too sleepy to draw conclusions. “So?”

“So her best move at that point is to sign the contract Vision was talking about, bringing her under the SI umbrella. Liz gains as much in protection as she loses in control, and SI doesn’t irreversibly bury her company.”

“That makes sense.”

“Yes, it does,” May says. She reaches over and rubs her husband’s arm approvingly. “And if the tabloids find out about this, it’ll have a completely innocuous angle. Instead of one of the Stark boys joyriding with a woman and paying her a large sum of money―we know how _that_ looks―it’s two young entrepreneurs meeting to discuss a new business partnership. I don’t think Liz is foolish enough, or malicious enough, to actually try to hold Harley hostage in exchange for a bigger payout, do you, Peter?”

As he turns his head to stare out the window, he’s picturing a hostage situation with Liz’s car squealing to a halt on a highway, caught in the beam of two helicopter spotlights. Through the windshield, she holds a gun to Harley’s temple... Of course, the worst Peter can picture is one of those Nerf guns May got them for Christmas. Doesn’t matter that he’s never been more frustrated at Harley than he is now―he can’t bring himself to imagine serious harm being done to him. He also can’t imagine Liz _doing_ that serious harm. Maybe she’s made some reckless decisions, but after seeing Michelle’s portrait of her, he knows that, however she used her sweetness to make him feel closer to her, the sweetness itself isn’t fake. Strip her of her most desperate, damaging choices and what remains? A woman who’s calculatingly intelligent, unstoppably ambitious, irresponsibly innovative. Give a person with those traits two living, present, attentive parents and a billion-dollar backing and you have... Harley Stark.

Each of the privileges that have raised Harley to his comfort and status (and the confidence those things provide to allow him the ignorance of never expecting the situation he’s currently in) corresponds to one of the disadvantages that have led Liz to attempt to extort money from him. Both of their fathers get into the weapons business; Liz’s dad goes to jail while Harley’s, thanks to his massive wealth, is allowed to verbally repent and rebrand. Both of their mothers survive the Snap; Liz’s mom dies from a health complication that Harley’s mom may have been able to survive if it had happened to her (depending on what it was and how quickly it happened), thanks to her resources. Liz is essentially alone; Harley has a large, supportive family.

Money matters, Peter recognizes, of course it does, but people matter more. That’s what the Snap taught the whole world. He can’t condone the things Liz has done, but he can trace them back to fear. Loneliness. Abandonment. The layers of protection she must have taken on since she was that teenage girl, smiling in the painting.

“No,” he tells his aunt. “I don’t think that’s something she would do.” He looks forward again, coming out of his thoughts. “I just wish we could find them and... and _fix_ this.”

The three of them spitball possible locations, directions Liz and Harley might be travelling in, or if they’re still travelling at all. North or south? West? Trying to hide in the bustle of a large city or getting as far off the grid as possible on the outskirts of a small town? May pulls up a map on her phone and they find all the cities inside the reasonably tight radius that Vision speculated the pair would stay within. Springfield, Concord, Hartford, Providence, Newark? Philadelphia? Would they go that far? Eventually, Peter slumps back, confused and defeated.

“Maybe Harley’ll just decide to come home,” Happy says with a sigh. “Huh, Peter? Don’t you think?”

He doesn’t sound hopeful though, and Peter can’t offer his uncle much reassurance.

“He could.”

“Not likely, hmm?” May interprets, craning to look back at him.

“Harley’s been restless for a really long time,” Peter tells them in a measured tone as he twists his hands together in his lap. “He gets that Mom and Dad like having us close because we were Snapped, but I think he feels a little smothered. He found out about Liz and her work on social media and he just got too fixated on her because he didn’t have enough other stuff going on. When he’s at home, he shuts himself off a lot to work on his projects and when he’s away, he drinks too much. I know he does. He’s too independent for the isolated way he’s been living since coming home from college.”

“I don’t think he’s the only one,” his aunt says with a gentle smile.

“We’re all kind of disasters, I guess.”

“No, honey.” May shakes her head and Peter lets her grip his hand when she extends hers around the seat towards him. “You’re growing up.”

“It didn’t sound like Vision was so resigned,” Happy pipes up.

“Yeah, well, Vision’s overly optimistic,” Peter says. “It won’t change Liz. He knows what she’s done in the past. We can’t trust her and we can’t expect the best of her.”

“Strong words.”

“It’s true. Remember,” he urges, “I told you Liz wasn’t really the innocent one in what went down between her and Michelle.” Saying her name feels funny. “Besides, you saw how Liz talked about Michelle when you met her at the compound in January, _and_ you saw the painting Michelle did of her. You gotta see how those things don’t line up. There’s more, but it’s not really my place to talk about it. Liz gave me a totally false impression of what Monica Rambeau was gonna be like too. She lied about a lot of stuff.”

“So then Harley knows about this stuff?” Happy asks.

“I never told him,” Peter admits, looking down and pressing his forehead against the back of May’s headrest. “I didn’t know everything until I was staying in Tribeca with Ned and starting to see Michelle, um, around. The day Vision and I went home, Harley told me that Liz was leaving Albany, so I didn’t think there was any point talking about her more. I thought we could all just forget about her. I should’ve said something to Harley before he left for Boston, but I just... I never thought either of them would take this so far.”

“And Harley and Liz hadn’t been flirting or anything before that?” May checks.

“I don’t think so. He had a crush on her, but Liz never really seemed interested in him before.” _Because she was focused on me_ , he thinks.

* * *

At first, Peter’s too groggy to check the exact time, but his stomach says it’s breakfast time when he wakes from an unsatisfying snooze, feeling grouchy and gummy, to find they’re pulling into the compound’s long driveway. Home. He watches the large block of a building through his window like he’s never seen it before.

They park and Happy the dog comes skipping up, standing with his front paws pressed to their legs as they climb out of the car. The little guy hardly knows Peter, but he dances around his feet and licks at his hand when he tries to scratch beneath the dog’s chin. Morgan’s not far behind. Proudly, she informs their aunt and uncle that she was giving Happy ‘his morning plays’ in the yard when they drove up. While the three of them retrieve their luggage, Morgan goes on about how much Dog-Happy ate and when, his favourite times of day to play and with what, and which of the movies they watched together he seemed to enjoy best. Peter grins at her and ruffles her hair. She’s so big and responsible; she’ll be eleven soon. Morgan swats his hand away, then lets him wrap it around her shoulders as they go inside. Peter feels good, thinking maybe she missed him, until anxiety creeps in. Part of her affection might be coming from how much she misses her regular partner in crime. He gives her little shoulder a squeeze and she ducks him, sprinting away down the hall with the dog clicking along behind her on its dainty feet. Peter goes to find Vision.

He’s up in Pepper’s office, which appears to have become something of a control room since Harley’s disappearance. Peter looks around at the holographic screens, seeing maps, hypothetical routes, and the blinking dot where his brother abandoned his phone and car in Boston. Vision rises from the chair where their mom usually sits and Peter hugs him. It doesn’t feel like much of a homecoming without Harley there to greet him too.

“Have you guys heard anything? My phone died in the car after I fell asleep.”

“Unfortunately not, though Pepper has travelled to Boston.”

“Mom went? What’s happening? What’s she doing?”

“She’s canvassing the hotel Harley stayed at,” Vision says, “and the bar where he met up with Liz. When she left, she was doubtful of discovering anything there, but she felt she may be able to enquire more thoroughly and more, hmm, _persuasively_ in person.”

That means an exchange of dollars for information, Peter knows. Well, his mom is an excellent negotiator. If there’s any chance of that method working, Pepper’ll be the one to pull it off.

“But no news?” Peter asks.

“No. She said she would not call until she’d found a new lead for us to investigate.”

“How’s Dad?”

His brother offers a cautious smile.

“Tony is, inevitably, Tony. He worries and feels useless. Morgan’s been reminding him to continue taking his medications on schedule and Nebula confronts him if he forgets. As ever, logically, he accepts that he must sustain strong physical and mental health, though practically, he subsists rather too much on coffee. Would you like to go and see him now?”

“Tell me how you are first, man,” Peter insists. “I know it has to be hard without Mom here. Just you and Dad and the girls, plus a dog.”

“I am quite alright.”

That’s all he’ll say, then they go back downstairs together so Vision can greet the Hogans, who Peter basically ditched the second they were home. Not on purpose. He listens while his brother apprises them of Pepper’s movements and, when their little sister demands it, backs up Morgan’s claims about what a great job she’s done dog-sitting this week. Though there isn’t much knowledge about Harley to go around, Peter thinks they all benefit from Vision’s persistent optimism; he still anticipates a speedy and satisfying conclusion to this whole stupid mess.

The five of them (plus, again, the dog) go into the living room to find Tony looking a little rough. He’s wearing a t-shirt and jeans, not pajamas, but Peter’s suspicious of just how _long_ his dad’s been wearing that t-shirt. He’d never forgive Peter for bringing his personal hygiene up in front of his brother- and sister-in-law. Peter keeps his mouth shut and waits out the painful sights and sounds of his father in distress over his absent son. Mostly, Tony seems restless as hell, finally imitating Harley for all the times Peter’s noticed Harley imitating him. He’s also really fucking angry―not at his son, but at Liz Allan.

“I just keep thinking,” Tony says to Happy, wheeling his chair up to his brother-in-law’s end of the couch. “That we should’ve all gone to Boston together as a family. I would’ve been able to supervise Harley. It’s what Morgan wanted.”

“But that’s not what _Harley_ wanted,” Peter says.

“I shoulda been there looking out for him.”

“Dad,” he cuts in again, “you couldn’t have stopped him.”

Tony waves him off and continues to lament to Happy.

“Why did we trust that friend of his? We barely know that kid and we let him and Harley run off to Boston to babysit each other?”

“Harley’s a young man,” May says before Peter can remind his dad that Harley’s twenty-three. It’s not like he let _Morgan_ drive herself to Boston for a sleepover. Tony’s just infantilizing Harley because he’s sad.

“That’s true,” his dad allows, rubbing his forehead. “He knows better than that. If it hadn’t been for his friend’s bad influence...”

Peter rolls his eyes as Tony rants some more.

“And now _Pep’s_ gone,” his dad concludes. He shrugs. “I need her.”

“I’ll drive out to Boston tomorrow,” Happy says. May makes a sound of encouragement. “I’ll find Pepper and we’ll work together, and you can keep bossing us around from here. Or bossing me around, at least. I know my sister trained you out of trying to boss her around a long time ago.”

He huffs a laugh and his wife shakes her head at him in mild annoyance.

“Maybe I should just go,” Tony says.

May leans forward to speak to Peter’s dad around her husband.

“Harley needs you here, Tony. Make your plans for what happens next. Keep considering the possibilities. Pepper could find Harley today, or Happy could find him tomorrow. You can have a contract sent to her electronically in a second.” She snaps her fingers to demonstrate.

“Less than a second,” Tony says petulantly, but Peter sees that his dad’s listening.

“And then, boom,” May goes on, “a brand new company right as you diversify Stark Industries.”

“Won’t be called Stark Industries anymore.”

“Well, _whatever_ ,” Peter’s aunt says, pushing forward. “You know how to turn this situation to your advantage, Tony. That’s what you’re best at. You can make this work.”

“Yep, that’s me,” he snarks. “Rumpelstiltskin; turning extortion into gold. Another day in the life.”

But then he smiles a smug smile to himself and Peter rolls his eyes.

“Have you slept?” Happy demands point-blank.

“When?” Tony asks cagily.

“Recently.”

“Recently? Hmm... Well. _Recently_. I guess not too recently, no. I’ll sleep when Harley’s back under this roof instead of stressing me out every hour of the day and night.”

“I don’t know if you should expect things to just go right back to normal,” May says gently. “Finding Harley won’t affect the reasons he took off in the first place.”

“Just ease up a little,” Happy suggests.

“You ease up,” Tony grumbles. “I gotta go see if I can bribe Morgan into cleaning up her brother’s room so it’s ready for him when he gets back.”

He wheels away and Peter glances from Vision’s impassive face to the more obviously worried ones of his aunt and uncle.

“So, how healthy of a response do we think that was?” May asks the room.

Happy shrugs.

“Could’ve been worse.”

* * *

After lunch the next day, May takes her dog for a walk in her husband’s absence despite the dark clouds. Peter and Vision return to the living room. Morgan shows up and brings Nebula from wherever she’s been hiding (or working―probably on something terrifying, but they mostly don’t ask). Peter knows his little sister’s usually busy with homework at this time of the day, but he assumes everyone’s either forgotten about her scholastic responsibilities or decided to let her spend her time however makes her happy while they endure the turmoil of home without Harley. She doesn’t mention their dad’s plan to bribe her into housework, so Peter doesn’t ask.

“I’m sorry your brother’s such a jackass,” is Nebula’s first comment in her husky tone. So much for, ‘Welcome home, Peter.’

He almost defends Harley against the description, but it’s the same one Peter uses for him. Often. He doesn’t want to be a hypocrite.

Instead, he replies, “He’s your brother now too, so... sorry.”

“I appreciate your condolences. At least we all have each other, or something.”

Peter’s surprised to hear Nebula extending words of comfort, even if she sounds a little uncertain and less than half-sincere. He can’t think of how to respond. Luckily, she clearly feels she’s on a roll.

“Harley should have taken the independence he wanted sooner,” she states. “He isn’t a child. He would learn faster if he was the one who had to bear the brunt of his actions’ consequences. Were he master of his own enterprises, his missteps wouldn’t influence the entire family and the reputation of Stark Industries in this way, causing so much chaos.”

Harley’d have a word or two to say back to that if he were here, Peter knows. It would probably involve questioning where Nebula thinks she gets her authority on raising a kid to be independent; she was brought up by a warlord, servile and disenfranchised, until she broke away and caused a hell of a lot more collateral damage than Harley’s done by getting in a car with Liz Allan. An explosive argument between Harley and Nebula is the one reason Peter has to be thankful that his brother’s _not_ present.

Fortunately, who they do have is Morgan.

“Yeah, but Harley’s really fun though,” she says in her brother’s defense.

While Morgan starts teaching Nebula how to play cat’s cradle with a length of something that looks like it could be a severed power tool cord―man, she’s lucky she’s the baby and will barely get in trouble when Tony finds out―Peter shifts closer to Vision and lowers his voice. Between the two of them, they brainstorm other avenues for their mom to try in Boston, other information Harley’s friend might be able to give them that would be useful, places Harley might’ve mentioned wanting to visit in Massachusetts or the surround states. Really, any detail from Harley himself would help, the brothers agree. Harley’s been such a secretive, withholding, little shit, not confiding in any of them. It makes Peter feel worse that he’s kinda done the same by not speaking up about Liz. Vision reminds him that they did what they believed to be right at the time, but Peter sighs.

“You wanna see something?” Morgan asks.

Peter sighs again and turns to her, trying to prop a smile up on his face.

“I know how cat’s cradle goes, bud.”

“Oh, I can’t show you that anyway. Neb took the string.”

Of course she did. He doesn’t even want to guess what that’s going to turn into when she’s stripped the coating off and peeled all the wires out like fucking string cheese.

“Ok, what’s up?”

“Gimme your phone,” his little sister instructs, palm out and up. Peter narrows his eyes slightly and Morgan loses patience. “Come _on_. I’m not gonna snoop.”

He hands it over, glancing at Vision, who looks on with interest as Morgan opens and signs into Twitter.

“You do not have a Twitter account,” Vision comments right as Peter’s wondering about that.

“It’s Harley’s,” she explains. “I know all his passwords.”

Her gaze darts up as though she just knows Peter’s expression is a mix of scandalized and confused. She gives him this look like the one accompanying Elle Woods’s ‘What, like it’s hard?’ in this really old movie, _Legally Blonde_.

“Generation Alpha,” Peter marvels softly. Morgan’s ignoring him again, clicking through to Harley’s DMs. “Whoa, you might not wanna...”

He doesn’t know what she’ll find in there, but his sister doesn’t hesitate to click on the thread under the name ‘Liz Allan.’

“See?” Morgan says, graciously allowing Peter to hold his own phone again as she pushes the hair out of her face. “Harley’s been talking to her.”

“You read these?” Peter asks. He’s doing his best not to, focusing on the timestamps instead. It’s a long exchange, but everything seems to have been sent back and forth in the very short time before Harley left for Boston. “Son of a...”

He tilts the screen so Vision can take a look, but Morgan makes it a short one, prying the phone from his fingers.

“There’s another thing,” she says.

After less than a minute of navigating, she offers the phone to Peter. Vision inclines his head to see the screen. They’re on TweetDeck now, viewing a Tweet Harley scheduled to post tomorrow.

“It was supposed to go up the other day,” Morgan says. “I keep rescheduling it.”

“Why didn’t you show this to Mom and Dad?” Peter asks, just beginning to read Harley’s Tweet. She doesn’t respond, squirming guiltily, so he concentrates on reading.

_Get ready for the most ambitious crossover event in history: Liz Allan Technology Evolution (@LATE) and Stark Industries (@starkind). Dad, if you’re reading this, surprise! Everybody else, get ready for innovation & awe. Get ready for the FUTURE. Harley Stark x Liz Allan._

“He put it in a Tweet,” Peter mumbles, stunned. “A _Tweet_.”

“Maybe I?” Vision requests and, numbly, Peter hands him the phone.

The three of them look at each other, then Morgan books it out of the room. She probably knows she has a lot to answer for, keeping her brother’s secrets. Peter can’t worry about that yet.

“Harley had a plan anyway,” he says. “He obviously thought they were going to make some kind of deal to merge the companies, besides whatever else he was hoping to get up to with Liz.”

“I think we should examine their exchange,” Vision suggests.

“ _Dude_. Their DMs?”

“You said yourself that the most useful clues would be anything we could ascertain from Harley directly. Here is our opportunity. The violation of his privacy does make me uncomfortable, but we must weigh that against his future.”

“Well, yeah, when you put it that way...”

Rather than continuing to peer at the phone screen together, Peter puts up a holographic projection right there in the living room and they begin to pore over Harley’s messaging history with Liz. Peter’s brother gets a little forward sometimes, but Liz walks a fine line of flirtation, never giving too much, always letting Harley be the one to come back to her. Basically, she might actually like him, but she also plays him like a fiddle―coaxing him into coming to Boston, arranging to meet him at the bar, planning to drive to Rhode Island...

“That’s a lead!” Peter blurts, pointing it out to Vision. His brother’s barely beginning to nod in recognition when he has his phone against his face, listening to it ring before Pepper picks up. “Mom! Rhode Island! Harley and Liz were going to Rhode Island!”

“Oh, thank god,” Pepper sighs. “Finally.”

Though it’s not over yet, Peter smiles in satisfaction.

* * *

As they wait for more news from Pepper and Happy, May tries to distract and lightly parent the Stark kids; Tony makes Rhode Island his latest obsession and spends most of his time staring at screens. Whenever one of the rest of them checks on him or brings him food in his workshop or Pepper’s office, they attempt to make him focus on them long enough to give his eyes a rest without pulling him so far out of his work that he starts considering donning an Iron Man suit and flying across state lines. It’s the exact reverse of his and Harley’s positions during the Battle of Earth, though Harley’s just contending with Liz, not an alien army, while his dad remains safely but unhappily at home.

Tony knows what he’s doing. It’s the kind of fixated behaviour he always swears he’s over, but there’s nothing like a member of his family being in trouble to cause him to revert back to the frantic genius, the rambling technology wizard. _Impotent_ wizard, Tony likes to add, since holding down the fort at the compound instead of being on the front lines of the problem has him petulant and depressed over his naturally aging body and abruptly altered health, thanks to Thanos. They’re careful to stay on him about his medications as well.

In the meantime, it’s possible that Peter doesn’t sign out of Harley’s Twitter account that Morgan left open on his phone. He’s not doing anything disgusting, like invading his brother’s privacy even further by checking out some of his other DM threads. Peter’s more interested in digging into the accounts Harley followed for stories about Liz. It takes very little effort to find reports of her and, where before they were glowing and excited (Peter remembers because Harley used to fucking read them to him out loud, ever a Liz Allan fanboy), now there’s a serious change. With Liz temporarily MIA, it’s her tech these accounts are focusing on―specifically, the illegal weapons that are being discovered in smuggling raids and tip-offs after someone sees something strange. Fortunately, no one’s been hurt or killed and the connection hasn’t been proven, but there are similarities between these weapons and the tools Liz is known to design that have Harley’s sources suspicious. Her reputation’s changing.

Happy calls Tony when he, May, and Peter happen to be in Pepper’s office together and says something vague like, if only they knew anyone who knows Liz and could pinpoint exactly where she’d go. Nobody would call Rhode Island huge, but if their two fugitives get restless, they could always take off again. It’s imperative that they find them soon. Peter knows that his uncle made the comment for his sake, seeing as they both know that Peter knows Michelle and has the means to contact her. His ears ring at the thought of calling her, so he sends her a text instead, which is difficult enough after how miserable he was saying goodbye to her in Burlington.

 _Hey_ , he texts, figuring it’s best to be brief so he won’t leave himself room to get emotional or say something totally stupid and unwelcome. _We found out Harley and Liz are in Rhode Island. Does that mean anything to you? Do you know where Liz would go?_

Peter waits and waits, pacing down the hall to look out a window at the menacing grey sky and then back to the office. Michelle doesn’t respond. He wasn’t really sure she would, thinking she has plenty of reasons to ignore it―mention of Liz, Stark family drama, and Peter himself. It could be that, without him in front of her, she’s cooled off to him once more. He understands and it hurts, but at least he knows he did something to try to help Harley that only he could do.

Vision comes into the office to check Pepper’s emails. He was given the responsibility to read them in her stead years ago, for when she’s expecting something important and not able to look for herself. Tony’s pretty much allergic to seeing requests, questions, and invitations that involve him in any way. In Vision’s brief perusal, he discovers an email sent that morning. It’s from Flash Thompson. Rather than read it aloud, he motions Peter over. Peter scans over it and realizes why Vision decided it’s not something their dad needs to hear.

He texted Ned about what was going on and Ned obviously told Flash. The guy starts his email out sorry enough to hear about Harley, but it quickly turns into very backhanded remorse; the message is pitted with remarks on Harley’s flaws, which Flash must have catalogued along with all the cool shit in their home during his visits. God, Peter thinks as he reads, Harley should’ve been nicer to him, instead of the times he was sarcastic or dismissive, or when he idiotically cut off Flash’s presentation to talk about his own plans to drive into Albany. The email gives him the sense that Flash has held an extremely petty grudge and feels justified in being smugly bitter now that Harley’s messed up. Also, it’s clear that Flash is freaking out over any possibility of Harley’s actions affecting SI stock.

Peter glances sideways at Vision and deletes Flash’s email. Twerp.

Pepper calls that evening and after talking a while with her brother and her husband, asks for Peter. He transfers the call from her office to his phone and walks back to his own room to talk to his mom in peace.

“You don’t think they left the state, right?” he asks.

“I don’t think so. Now that we’re on alert, I doubt they’ll slip past us.” She sounds tired.

“Do you think they’re in Providence or some other city?”

“Providence seems most likely. They’ve pinned themselves in here, so I think they’ll at least be trying to disappear in a bigger place. Peter,” she continues after a pause, “you were right.”

“About Rhode Island? I didn’t come up with that,” Peter reminds her, “I read it in Harley’s―”

“About being more careful about letting Harley go to Boston. It was too much independence at once after the way your dad and I have been hovering over you guys.”

“I wouldn’t say you’re really hov―”

“I’m sorry. You were right. At least let me say it because you’re not going to hear it from Dad.”

They both laugh.

“I wish I wasn’t right, you know?” Peter says softly.

“Mhmm, I know.”

“We’re all looking after Morgan,” he says, so she won’t worry so much. “She’s not really doing her homework, but I think the dog’s keeping her mind off Harley.”

“Hey, as long as Morgan’s not taking one of the cars and hightailing it to Boston, she can do almost anything she wants.”

“She’ll be thrilled to hear that.”

“Peter,” his mom says warningly.

He doesn’t think she’s actually worried that Morgan’s going to get up to something, but she makes the approximately three-hour drive home that night, leaving Happy to continue closing the net around Harley and Liz. Unlike Tony, Pepper knows when she’s in danger of burning herself out and now that things feel less futile, she’s comfortable delegating to her brother. Though they’re all glad to see her when she pulls up out front, her husband alters the most. It’s like her presence recharges his batteries. Also, she forces him to finally leave his screens alone and get some sleep.

* * *

The clouds and the tension at the compound burst early the next morning. Peter doesn’t know how long his mom’s been up, but she greets him in the kitchen when he comes hunting for breakfast.

“I heard from Uncle Happy,” she says.

She’s holding a tall glass filled with a violently orange smoothie. Nebula’s gotten pretty good at those and they’re particularly drinkable when they actually taste like fruit instead of cheeseburgers, Peter finds; she made a huge batch and left it in the fridge. Weirdly, having the revitalizing cold freshness of a smoothie has been one of the biggest comforts over the past couple of days. He wonders if Nebula knows how much they appreciate the sneaky ways she cares for them. She probably suspects and makes herself scarce to avoid any potential outpouring of grateful emotion. Anyway, Pepper’s holding it, but she’s not drinking it and Peter wonders if that’s a bad sign.

“What’d he say?” he asks his mom, abandoning the cereal box he was reaching for.

“Well, I left him with a couple of ideas of places to look. He found them in College Hill.”

“He found them!” It’s kinda more of a shout than a question. She lowers her glass to the counter and he watches with wary eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Harley’s already given Liz some money,” she sighs, “and he’s been paying for their accommodation. They rented a room in one of the college residences because students have started moving out for the summer. That’s not a big expense, but Happy hasn’t been able to get Harley to fess up to how much he’s already given Liz. There’s a cheque, apparently.”

“What about the contract?”

Finally, Pepper takes a drink of her smoothie.

“Happy grilled him about that and said it made Harley pretty defensive, big surprise. It doesn’t sound like your brother had immediate plans to get something worked out in writing, but Happy’s persuading him that sooner is better.”

“With Liz there? She’s not gonna like that,” Peter guesses.

“I’m sure she doesn’t, but your uncle isn’t about to let her disappear with who knows how much money. He can’t take it back, but he’s going to make sure they make an arrangement. I had a contract prepared before and the three of them are going over it now.”

“So that’s why you can’t sit down and have breakfast. You’re too stressed.”

His mom smiles like she’s been caught.

“I’ve been debating driving back to Providence today, but being smothered by his mom is exactly what pushed Harley away in the first place. I think we have a better shot if I leave Happy to finalize things.”

“You don’t think Miss Allan will simply refuse?”

It’s Vision and Peter spins to face him. He wonders if his brother hovered into the kitchen, or if he was so caught up in his relief about Harley that he blocked everything else out for a minute. Vision’s question would’ve been odd before this week; he always assumes people will make good choices for the right reasons. The surfacing reports of the weapons Liz created for distribution are what’ve made him more cautious of her. Although Vision, too, was constructed in a lab from an amalgamation of technologies, he’s still 100% Earthling―and an Earthling who saw the kind of damage alien weaponry could do when Wakanda was attacked a decade ago. His brother might be the least bloodthirsty person Peter knows. Ironic, considering how often he’s been at the center of a conflict.

“It’s possible that she hates us right now,” Pepper speculates, “for not just letting her take what she wants and leave, but I think she’ll see the benefit the deal will have in the long run and sign the contract.”

She wanders out, taking her smoothie, and Peter gets a bowl for his cereal while his brother looks on. Vision appears contemplative, arms crossed. When Peter sits at the table, he joins him.

“It feels fucked up to be happy about this,” Peter says. “That Liz gets her money and gets tied into Stark Industries.”

He hopes she doesn’t move back to Albany. So far, he hasn’t gotten the distance between them that he expected and he’d really like to not have to see her too often.

“Ah, but she also gets Harley,” Vision responds with a sly smile. “I doubt she would risk spurning his affections at this stage. We’ll see how they like each other.”

Peter snorts.

“That’s true. You know, I was thinking, they might actually be pretty alike.”

“Then I can only suggest that we avoid them as much as possible on their return. I do wonder...”

“What?”

“About Miss Allan’s mercenary nature,” Vision begins. “In fact, about whether her mercenary qualities _are_ her nature. I really don’t believe so.”

“Dude, it’s not even eight yet. Dumb it down for me a little.”

“I expect that Miss Allan would require more than money alone to enter into this partnership.”

Peter frowns.

“What else would she want? Oh, maybe our help in getting out of trouble for the illegal weapons they found?”

“Certainly that, but... I’m not sure,” Vision confesses.

“I hope you’re wrong. I don’t know what _else_ we could offer her.”

They go upstairs when Peter’s done eating and swing by Pepper’s office. It’s been headquarters lately, so even though Harley’s been found, the contract’s been sent, and there’s not much to do at the moment, they head there automatically. They discover Morgan and Nebula in the hall just outside, the former trying to teach the latter to do a cartwheel while the latter insists that of course she _can_ do one, she just won’t be demonstrating. Peter’s parents are in the office with Aunt May and it looks like they just missed Pepper breaking the news to Tony.

He’s quiet for a minute, wheeling himself forward and back while his wife and sister-in-law observe him from their perches on Pepper’s desk and Peter and Vision edge cautiously into the room. Abruptly, Tony grins.

“This is great!”

“Great?” Pepper repeats.

“It’s a new, younger branch of Stark Industries. Harley can head it and bringing Liz’s business into SI will be his first big project. Wow, he’ll have so much to do. I wonder if they’ll want to work from the compound or run it out of Boston. Maybe he can split his time as he does some training under you, Pep. Harley Stark, captain of industry. Taking after his old man. I’m going to look at Boston real estate and find him an office. Clear a path, people,” he demands, wheeling out of the office. “I’ve got a whole goddamn business to set up. Pep, you think we should start announcing this?”

“Harley already did,” Morgan says, waltzing in and pulling up Twitter on a holographic screen. There’s the Tweet she showed Peter and Vision yesterday.

“You never rescheduled it?” Peter asks. The last they saw of it, it was sitting in TweetDeck.

“I was gonna reschedule it again, but I was waiting to see what happened,” she tells him. “Why’d you think I was here?”

“To teach Nebula how to do a cartwheel?”

And his ten-year-old sister gives him the most dramatic, exasperated look he’s ever seen. Peter thought it was him who was learning so much about business from their mom. Nope. There’s Pepper’s heir apparent, rolling her eyes at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morgan to the rescue! Next, Harley's responsible parent ~~s~~ tidies up the logistics of the new deal and finally, after all the drama they've caused, Harley and Liz show their faces! While Peter endures Liz's presence in his home, another woman refuses to leave his mind.


	26. A Merger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "He had never before supposed that, could Wickham be prevailed on to marry his daughter, it would be done with so little inconvenience to himself, as by the present arrangement." - _Pride and Prejudice_ , ch. 50

Pepper’s going to need to see Liz’s business plan. Her profit and loss sheets, her mission statement. For as tricky and underhanded as Liz has been in her pursuit of a slice of the Stark Industries pie, Pepper’s glad that the young woman at least has sufficient budgeting and marketing acumen to have survived this long. Harley’s clearly a walking testimonial to the strength of Liz’s online presence. Pepper’s not looking forward to working with her, but there are some aspects of Liz’s company that will fall under her jurisdiction after Stark Industries gains ownership and assessing LATE (Liz Allan Technology Evolution), then adapting it to SI’s standard operational procedures, will be so much simpler than establishing an entirely new business from the ground up.

Still, she would not say she’s _pleased_. There are the lawyers to contact, the suspicions of illegal weapons distribution to deal with privately, out of court. If Pepper does her job well, Liz will come to them with a reputation as spotless and transparent as a pane of glass. And Pepper _always_ does her job well. Until she receives the necessary company data and records from Liz, she can concentrate on press releases that handle both the announcement of the joint venture and the slant the media should take in regards to the circumstances under which Harley disappeared in the first place. She’ll manage things to the best of her abilities, recognizing that the second they’re handed over to Harley, her meticulously forecasted outcomes will turn unpredictable. (She’ll have to keep an unobtrusive eye on her son.) It’s what Stark men do―acknowledge her efforts and then wing it while Pepper smiles tensely in the background. The fact that Harley is following more closely in her husband’s footsteps than either of them likely realizes is actually somewhat reassuring. Tony could always pull the rabbit from the hat when he had to, even if the rabbit was a rather startling speech and the hat was his ass.

In her work of this afternoon, Pepper doesn’t contact her son. Not a text or a call. She’s grateful that he’s alright, of course, but she’s furious that he would put her through that kind of worry when he’s already vanished on her once. Harley was Snapped out of existence for five years. This disappearance didn’t quite reach five days, but all of her old fear compressed itself into that short span. If she doesn’t allow it to escape as frustration, she thinks she’d probably be useless with sorrow, and her family needs her. Even the shitheads. When she’s not scheduling a press conference or setting up interviews that Harley will have to do within the next month, Pepper pushes herself through mile after mile on the stationary bike, trying to sweat out some of this anger.

All Tony’s exercise happens in his fingers, tapping through real estate websites, dialing prospective agents, swiping through photos of staged commercial spaces and executive lofts with room for large home offices. Property hunting has been his passion for years, but he’s never had a project as near to his heart as finding exactly the right spot to set his son up in business. He’s so proud he could cry. And he probably will, when Harley gets home and Tony puts on his exoskeleton so he can look his son in the eye while he claps him on the shoulder and says, ‘Well done. You messed up, but you brought it home. You’re a chip off the old block.’

He wheels into the gym where Pepper’s doing her cool down, cycling slowly then climbing off the bike to perform floor stretches. He’s a little distracted by her long, toned legs in those incredibly form-fitting yoga pants. Clearing his throat, Tony remembers his purpose there, that he didn’t stop by to seduce his wife. He clicks through the webpages using the tablet in his lap, glancing up to watch Pepper’s gaze lift to where the same information is displayed on a holograph that takes up half the wall. Pleased, he begins presenting his top dozen real estate choices (not including the compound), scattered between here and Boston. Worryingly, his wife just says, “Uh huh,” and rises to swipe a towel across the back of her neck, then temptingly low into the front of her shirt.

“If you want to take a look, by all means,” Tony invites as she slings the towel over her shoulder and takes a long drink of water. “More choices won’t hurt.”

“And who’s paying for this, Tony?” Pepper questions, dabbing at her mouth with the back of her hand.

“What do you mean? We are. That’s our kid, Pep. We gotta help him find his feet.”

“I don’t think Harley really needs our help finding anything. He found his way to his first company acquisition. He found his way to Providence.”

“Pep, come on. Be serious. Harley’s part of this family, and this company. We’re not going to just drop the kid on his ass.”

“Part of this company? Tony, don’t make me laugh.” But she does laugh, high and airy and not at all content. “You know what a precarious spot he put us in these past few days. Harley has a lot to learn and he’s never had the patience to learn it from me.”

“But he _will_ now,” Tony protests, rolling up to his wife. “This is Harley’s time, I can feel it. I say we help him make the most of this situation, sudden as it is.”

“And _I_ say we let our son have his first taste of _real_ independence.”

“If we leave him to flounder, _that’s_ when this becomes a farce,” he warns. “We’ve made the announcements, arranged the interviews―alright, _you_ have. This venture has Harley’s name stamped on it, but it’s got ours too. How’s he going to feel when we leave him alone in this? How’s that going to look?”

“You know, I hope Harley’s asking himself those same questions. Too bad he didn’t ask them sooner.”

* * *

Now that Harley’s screw-up is about to be resolved, Peter’s reflecting on his final night in Vermont with mortification. Michelle approached him in the hotel parking lot and he told her _everything_. It wasn’t the act of confiding in her that he regrets, but the content of what he confided. The publicity’s under control, so if he hadn’t said anything, there’d be no chance of her hearing the truth: that Peter’s brother is a sucker and that, where Liz failed with Michelle, she succeeded with the Starks. Through his distress when he spilled everything, he could tell that the unpleasant update on her former friend upset her. Maybe she would’ve read somewhere that Stark Industries was acquiring Liz’s tech company, but it would’ve been neat, unsensationalized, not manically reported to her personally by Peter. And there’s that desperate text he sent her the other day. He brought up this awful part of Michelle’s past the very last time he ever fucking saw her and then, on the sole occasion he’s contacted her since, he mentioned that same person again. God! Idiot!

What he doesn’t fear is that Michelle will say anything to anybody. Peter’s probably hurt her plenty now, but he knows she’s too cautious and discrete to spread the rumour of Harley’s bone-headed getaway, even as a means of revenge against Peter for failing her again. He trusts her. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck to know that he gave the person who already thinks his family are a bunch of reckless morons who solve problems by throwing money at them more reason to believe that. Peter thinks the phrase ‘Daddy’s money’ every so often and feels nauseous.

With Liz being brought into the Stark Industries fold, it goes from difficult to impossible to imagine Michelle wanting to associate herself with his family. Any connection to him is a connection to Liz. The universe is really _mean_ sometimes, Peter thinks. Michelle already thinks the Starks misspend their money; he has to wonder what she thinks knowing that they’re (Harley, at least) now spending it on the person who funneled money from her parents’ bank accounts. That looks like a bad investment a mile away. Peter really needs to stop wondering what she thinks.

It’s all just gone totally fucking wrong, hasn’t it? He seriously thought, during those few precious days at her cottage, that Michelle still cared about him. It’s hard to take comfort in that assumption now because Peter’s embarrassment, remorse, and the hollow, never-to-be-fulfilled desire to make it all up to her somehow are in the way. He can’t access that comfort anymore. Ridiculous as it is, Peter wishes she’d text him. Doesn’t have to be about Harley. Doesn’t really have to be about anything in particular. He wants the sensory experience of holding his phone in his hand, reading a text from her, and knowing that she thought of him. Even just once more.

He’d love another shot to say yes to her. Ideally, for Michelle to ask him out again. He turned her down two months ago―on fucking _Valentine’s_ _Day_. It was so easy. He’s such a massive idiot. Well, here’s her vindication for however he broke her heart or just embarrassed her with the forcefulness and self-assurance of his refusal. It’s tough, recognizing that they might’ve sorta been perfect for each other. She’s definitely perfect for him. Peter feels like he’s learned a fair amount about himself in these past two months and one of the things is the kind of person who’d be good for him and who he could be good for in return, as he continues to get himself into fit mental shape. Michelle’s unhurried observations, her thoughtfulness, her patience, her cultured, academic intellect... Yeah, his qualities don’t line up with any of that very well, but that’s why they’d work together, he thinks. His openness could’ve balanced her tendency towards quick judgement; her steadiness and artistic eye could’ve helped him be less impulsive, more focused. The better this fantasy of the two of them together gets in Peter’s head, the more disappointing it is to face the reality of life without her. Instead of him and Michelle falling in love (or just going on a date), he gets to watch the business merger of Harley and Liz.

* * *

Happy calls Pepper again in the late afternoon.

The subject of the call is a matter they worried about when they first realized they would be coming to Liz Allan with a contract: her illegal weapons sideline. There didn’t seem to be any way to bring up such a sticky topic without confrontation. Would Liz deny it? Would she use it as a bargaining tool, requesting more from the Starks in exchange for giving up such a lucrative segment of her business? Would she only sign the contract if they offered her a second, secret deal that allowed the continued creation and distribution of weaponry? Pepper and her brother agreed it could be a problem. Now, Happy tells her that Liz is prepared to walk away from any illegal operations. Just like that. It’s a huge relief and suggests, to Pepper, that Liz appreciates the seriousness and opportunity of the deal they’re making. Passion for the work is something Pepper can understand; passion for the thrill of doing business illegally... she’s not sure what they could’ve done about that.

Happy informs her that Liz is still in touch with many of her contacts for her legal inventions, meaning she comes to them with a network stretching from Boston to Portland. Stark Industries’ international reach and acclaim dwarf most other companies on the planet, but connections that span the country from the Pacific to the Atlantic are an impressive feat for a small business like Liz’s nonetheless. Pepper appreciates this news for the patron base as well as for the likelihood that so many honest business contacts will encourage Liz to keep on the straight and narrow. She won’t want to lose them on top of the criminal side of her trade that the lawyers are already at work to distance her from.

Because of her recent arrival in Boston, Happy tells Pepper that Liz intends to remain there _and_ , with the stability of being attached to Stark Industries, consents to maintaining that city as her headquarters instead of uprooting herself and her business every few months. That’s good. Close, but not too close. While Liz is in the process of shifting to being funded through entirely legal channels, she also plans to make herself available to the local colleges as a visiting presenter. There’s enough buzz around her name and her work to translate into a short lecture series, providing her with some income and a chance to establish herself in Boston’s tech community. Again, this is reassuring, that Harley’s new associate is putting down roots. As harshly as Pepper spoke about her son to Tony earlier, she doesn’t want to see him settle too far away. If Liz had decided to return to Oregon, for example, that would’ve been crushing. It catches Pepper by surprise when Happy says, right at the end of the call, that Harley can’t wait to see her. She hangs up and tears up. That frustrating, reckless young man is also her firstborn, her little boy.

The rest of her family are just as relieved when she updates them about Liz relinquishing her illegal transactions and weapon construction. As she fills them in on the rest of Happy’s phone call, only Tony looks disappointed―probably about Harley moving to Boston to oversee the only company in the new branch of Stark Industries. She sees her husband toying with his tablet and assumes he’s eliminating all of the local real estate listings from his top picks for their son.

With their mom softened by the good news and Tony’s moping, it’s easy for Peter and Vision to persuade Pepper to offer Harley the financial support their dad lobbied for. They basically use his same argument without getting defensive or argumentative. Stressing that Liz’s company needs to be welcomed and the merger given the same support as any other partnership Stark Industries has forged over the years, they get Pepper to agree to set aside a designated budget for office space, overhead, and other start-up costs. They emphasize that this step will help Harley become more independent. What would be the point in having him fail now? He must know he fucked up.

Peter doesn’t feel uneasy until his mom’s agreement extends to an offer of congratulating Harley and Liz with dinner tomorrow night. Here, at the compound. He knew he’d be seeing his brother again soon, probably tomorrow if they get the contract stuff wrapped up today, but he didn’t figure on spending time with Liz. Shit.

* * *

They’re coming. To Peter, it honestly doesn’t feel dissimilar to a horror movie.

Happy drove back to the compound with the signed copies of the contract last night, depositing them with Pepper before sequestering himself with his wife and dog. This definitely hasn’t been the holiday they planned on when they set out from Queens. Harley and Liz were apparently spending another night in Providence before Liz drove them back to Boston, dropped off her car, and became a passenger in Harley’s for the ride Upstate. They’re travelling unsupervised, but this time, the contract is the family’s guarantee that Harley will be honouring the time they set for dinner, and that Liz won’t be coaxing him into fleeing to some other location.

Prior to their arrival, Vision is particularly stressed. He can’t desist in putting himself in Harley’s place and imagining what might have happened if he’d run off with Wanda after the open house as a way to expedite Tony’s plan of buying into her restaurant. Naturally, Vision would never have done such a thing, but it still chills him that Harley was capable of it. The thought never even occurred to him, no matter the inducements of being with Wanda and coming to an agreement that would both support her restaurant and diversify Stark Industries’ holdings. To take that action without his family’s knowledge or approval would be wrong. What Harley did threatened the integrity of their company during a time of transition and the reputation of every member of their family. Had they not found Harley as quickly as they did, there could’ve been shockwaves for their stockholders. Vision concludes that Harley’s thoughtless actions are unjustifiable. Even for a woman like Wanda, Vision would never put the future of every other person who’s dear to him in jeopardy.

Peter glances at him every so often and Vision, as distracted by inner turmoil as he is, decides to focus on setting his brother at ease. He phases to appear human. There. Now he looks prepared to face Harley and Liz’s arrival.

Tony’s beaming from the first glimpse of the car Harley borrowed on one of the compound’s security monitors; Pepper’s calm but unsmiling; Peter and Vision are anxious, though only one of them looks it; Morgan can hardly stand still while she waits to be reunited with her favourite brother; Nebula’s quiet, alert, ready, should the request be spoken to take retribution against Harley and/or Liz for the trouble they caused her adoptive family’s company. The Starks are good people and she considers Harley a disgrace for disrespecting them in this way. The boy is fortunate to have only known gentle parenting and should not take it for granted. (Nebula would never _harm_ Harley, simply intimidate him into better behaviour. She’ll wait for now, not wanting to upset Morgan.)

Peter half-expects his brother’s voice to boom out in triumph, but after crossing the threshold, Harley ducks his head into the room where they’re waiting for him and says, “Miss me?” in his regular tone. Tony, supported by his exoskeleton, strides to his son and Peter watches unhappily (not jealously, just disappointedly) as he welcomes Harley back with a, “Well done.” _Well done_? Well fucking done? What the hell is their dad talking about? Harley fucked up _bad_. Probably brought the car back with an empty tank on top of everything else. He’s just not… considerate, Peter thinks, standing there tensely as Liz follows Harley into the room. He rolls his eyes when Tony shakes her hand. _Jeeze_.

Watching his mom greet the two of them is more satisfying. Normally, Pepper’s big on putting people at ease, being an attentive host to balance Tony’s typically moody hosting style, if he doesn’t shirk his hosting responsibilities entirely. Right now, she barely says hello to them. As Liz glances around, Peter sees his mom’s face mirror his own irritation; Liz has been here before, so what the hell is she looking at? Getting ideas for how she might like to furnish the new place she can afford with the money she convinced Harley to fork over? It’s hard for Peter to look right at her and really confront that this is the woman who played with his feelings over the winter, who stole from Michelle and was ok with having Monica put her career at risk to get Liz access to military tech. His eyes are unclouded now and the site of her glancing calmly around their home makes him so uncomfortable that he wants to run away. Meanwhile, the fact that Harley seems exactly the same as he’s ever been makes Peter feel so mixed up inside. How can these two self-centered assholes act like this is a normal visit? Everyone was so stressed while Harley was missing! Pepper’s in the middle of heading off any legal problems Liz would’ve faced over her weapons distribution! How can they possibly not realize the mess they made?

Happy and May are smart to hide out from this, sticking to the room they always stay in when they’re at the compound. The rest of them have to endure Harley’s individual greetings. After their parents, he goes to Morgan, who tells him off so aggressively that Peter’s eyebrows zoom up towards his hairline. But then their sister throws her arms around her brother and the next thing Peter knows, she’s being piggybacked over to an irate-looking Nebula (that’s another person on his side, Peter thinks with annoyed satisfaction). What a little traitor Morgan is. She stares straight at Peter while Harley tries to coax a friendly reception out of Nebula that is _clearly_ not going to happen. When Harley gets to him, he smacks Peter’s upper arm and says, “Hey, Pete, long time no see.” He chuckles while Peter sighs.

His new business associate is Liz as Peter’s ever known her. She’s sweet, confident while remaining soft-spoken, and apparently not at all embarrassed to be here at the compound. If the circumstances were different, he’s sure that his family would like Liz very much, would greet her and behave towards her the way they used to when she came over to hang out with him and have dinner back in January. Her smile is still inviting and her intelligent opinions are still well-articulated. _I know what you did to Michelle, to her parents’ legacy_ , Peter wants to say. But now he’s going to have to let his irritation go, hush the inner voice that complains that this is not right, like he thought he did when she left Albany. It’s really over this time. There’s nothing to be done but watch her enter his home as a member of Stark Industries and lean lightly into his brother’s side when Harley puts a hand on her back. They’re pretty cute together, unfortunately, and not at all ashamed.

Dinner’s catered in and Peter knows it’s his aunt’s doing; both of his parents have been distracted in different ways, so May quickly and inconspicuously stepped in to arrange this. So Liz is back at their table. Somehow, it works out that she’s sitting right next to Peter and she keeps trying to make casual conversation, her gentle voice very much in contrast to Harley and Tony’s excited chatter at the end of the table. Peter does his best with Liz, but when she starts talking about her memories of being here, he squeezes his fork until he puts a little bend in it. Does she seriously consider that a kosher topic of discussion? She used to come here because _he_ invited her! She’d look at the workshops with amazement and he’d look at her, curious about the feeling of her mouth against his. Peter can’t walk through those memories as easily as they walked through the compound together. Not with the knowledge that Liz was manipulating his affections then, not with the stark truth of her being with his brother now. Everything is gross and weird and Peter only eats as much as he does because he’s genuinely starving after spending three hours sweating through his trepidations in the gym this afternoon.

“So,” Harley says as they’re all making an attempt at dessert, “the Prodigal Son returns and brings Stark Industries’ salvation with him!”

Peter coughs and Vision pats him gently on the back. He nods to his brother in appreciation, not willing to turn his head in the other direction to see what Liz thinks of this statement; it names her the salvation of their family’s company and Harley the Prodigal Son. Peter’s not sure which one of those labels is more wrong. Ok, maybe they are glad to have his brother home and maybe acquiring LATE will assist in fleshing out SI’s holdings, but it’s not like that’s the whole story! They wouldn’t have to be so grateful for Harley’s safe return if he hadn’t fucked off without so much as a text in the first place, and it’s not like Liz’s business is unambiguously a gift. Peter’s mom has already put a ton of effort in to ensure Liz’s work is entirely legitimate going forward. He got a peek at some of the documents when he was in her office that morning, trying to help out, and saw careful stipulations about what Liz will and will _not_ be expected to design, what is and is _not_ defined as a weapon as opposed to a tool, how and how _not_ to obtain the parts she may need, specifying trusted channels and eschewing black market alien tech. LATE is a Trojan horse and even after the lawyers turn it inside out to make sure there aren’t any further surprises, they’re still going to metaphorically power-wash the inside to blast off any trace of treachery.

Pepper’s giving Harley a look that’s usually just for their dad. It’s not a good look. Peter attempts to get his brother’s attention by letting his fork clatter against his plate―he’ll mouth at him to shut the fuck up or flash him warning eyes or something―but Harley ignores him.

“I’m doing interviews, right?” Harley asks their mom, oblivious to her expression. “Happy said you were setting up interviews for me. Who with? Anyone cool? _Popular Science_ would be fun. What about _GQ_? Huh, Liz?” He winks at his new... business partner? Lover? Girlfriend?

GQ, Peter repeats inside his head. _Fucking_ _delusional_. The instant people start to shift in their chairs like they might be moving to the living room soon, he shoves back from the table and heads straight outside. It’s dark already. Are Liz and Harley staying here overnight? They must be. He must have driven her to her place in Boston before coming home so she could pack some stuff. Peter breathes hard and deep in the thoroughly chilly air of mid-April. He paces, hands on hips. He’s startled to notice that one of the thoughts flying past in his brain is a wish that Michelle were here. No, he doesn’t really want that (he does). She deserves to have her life remain Liz-free, living in peace at her cottage all the way up in Vermont. Maybe it’s more that he wishes he were there. Yeah, that’s it. If only he deserved to be.

When he starts bouncing to stay warm, Peter admits to himself that needs to be mature and go back inside. Sure enough, everyone’s settled in the living room, minus Morgan. He assumes she’s bored of her brother talking about business and focusing more on Liz than her. Plus, she’s gotten used to the dog and probably went to hang out with him until someone tells her it’s time for bed.

“I couldn’t have done better,” Harley’s bragging as Peter comes in and flings himself onto a loveseat next to a watchful Nebula. (He reminds himself that it’s not _him_ who’s pissed her off, so there’s no reason to be nervous.) “She was literally my dream person to work with.”

 _Literally_ his _dream_. He talks about Liz without talking directly to Liz and Peter wonders if that annoys her. It’s possible that she feels the starry look on his face is compensation.

“Seriously,” he goes on, “it’s all happening in Boston. We should’ve already had headquarters there. That city is the future, that’s where all the great ideas are coming out of. I say we round up the rest of these neophytes―” Harley gestures to his three present siblings―“drive ‘em out to Boston, and find everybody their perfect business partner. We should’ve all gone together in the first place. How come we didn’t do that?”

“We should’ve,” Tony agrees, likely knowing he’s preventing his wife from giving a far more sensible answer that he doesn’t want to hear. He fiddles, gaze darting occasionally to his son. “You staying out there then, kid? You know we’ve got about a hundred spare rooms here, right? Any one of ‘em could be converted into an office.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Harley says. Peter’s frustrated that he misses the point―their dad’s not _worried_ , he’s sad that Harley’s leaving home. “I’ll find a place out there. Probably near Liz. It’ll be awesome. I feel like I’ve hardly seen any of Boston yet.” _Yeah_ , Peter thinks, _wonder why that is_. “And you guys can come visit.”

“ _Yes_ ,” their dad says emphatically. “Family vacation.”

“If anybody wants to stay longer to learn the business under my wing, I’d be happy to have them. We can start working on finding them business partners to keep expanding SI.”

He looks at Peter with what appears to be expectation.

“I’m good,” Peter says flatly.

“You sure?”

“Yep.”

Eventually, the evening ends, night comes, and the next morning Harley and Liz sit down for breakfast like they’re going to be a permanent fixture, here and together. They shared Harley’s room last night, Peter knows. It turns out that they aren’t leaving again right away like they thought. His brother spends some time with their dad looking at real estate. He wants to get a new place quick, within the week if they can manage it (with their money, they can), and move out to continue living this glorious, independent life he sees himself as just embarking upon. Harley drops more than one hint about moving in with Liz. Oh, he couches it different ways―it would be temporary until he gets his own place, or they could get a bigger apartment, a house even, and have separate bedrooms (everything on his face says he hates his own plan)―but he’s really not as subtle as he probably thinks he is. It’s clear that Harley is _gone_ over Liz. His feelings have been developing for at least a year, Peter guesses, from curiosity, when he heard about her tech, to interest, when he started really reading up on her, to affection, when they met in Albany, to... who knows? Love? Possibly love, now that they’re actually together and Harley has very, very, very obviously shared some intimate experiences with her while they were hiding out in Providence.

It makes sense to Peter. Harley’s had _time_. Liz, who hasn’t spent months obsessing over Harley on social media (though, theoretically, she could’ve if she wanted to, since he’s the son of a prominent figure and therefore in the public eye), has not had time to reach that point. Peter doesn’t know if she will. What he assumes, right now, is that she is absolutely not into Harley the way he’s into her. Money and opportunity are enough to tie them together at the moment. It feels possible that the two of them could genuinely and non-insanely ( _Harley_ ) fall for each other given a little time. Like Peter thought before, they really are a lot alike and when they aren’t being destructive assholes they might even make a good team, with all that combined ambition, Liz’s sweetness, Harley’s refusal to hear the word ‘no.’

He doesn’t have to wonder if Harley wants to talk about his new relationship because, that afternoon, his brother finds him quickly closing a webpage (art studio tours shouldn’t mean anything to Harley, but Peter feels caught doing something forbidden) in his room and just _starts_ talking. Of course, he makes himself good and comfortable on Peter’s bed first, punching and rearranging his pillows as Peter stares at him, unimpressed, from his desk.

“What do you want to hear about first?” Harley asks, as if Peter fucking dragged him here, desperate for details. “Me and Liz or me, Liz, and the contract?”

“How ‘bout neither?”

“Not an option, dipshit,” his brother informs him with a grin.

So he starts in on all of it. Meeting up with Liz at the bar that night, going over their plan, taking off in her car like Bonnie and Clyde. Thankfully, he omits gory play-by-plays of their first kiss and whatever went down between them when they pulled off at a rest stop and Liz climbed across the gear shift into Harley’s lap. Peter can guess. Harley vents his annoyance over the length and complexity of the contract, then skips back to Happy’s arrival, their mom’s weary anger and scorching disappointment. Peter’s feeling some of those things himself and getting so caught up in his own emotions over this story that he almost misses it when Harley mentions an extremely unexpected detail. Peter can’t have heard him correctly.

“Wait,” he instructs his brother. “Wait, wait, shut up, go back. Who showed up with Happy?”

“Shit, Peter, pay attention. You think I like repeating this story over and over?”

Yeah, he does think that. He thinks Harley’s been recounting it to all of them, one at a time, as the single greatest (most moronic) adventure of his life. He thinks Harley’s living for the attention, even if it takes on the colour of notoriety under certain light. But that doesn’t matter right now.

“Just...” Peter pleads, “...what was the name?”

Harley gives him an odd look.

“Michelle Jones. You know, she used to live up the road at the Park. Man, you’ve got a short memory. Did you forget about her already?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peter will hear more about Michelle's role in the Harley situation in the next chapter, then he has an awful lot of speculating to do on what her being involved might mean!


	27. Providential Interference

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Her heart did whisper, that he had done it for her." - _Pride and Prejudice_ , ch. 52

Michelle Jones.

Peter hears himself say her name aloud, unconsciously repeating after his brother, and Harley shushes him. It’s a secret, he insists. He looks embarrassed, out of his own tenuous control. He smooths the placket of his dress shirt. Peter knows Harley’s not used to dressing like that and can only assume that he’s now started to because he thinks business attire will somehow fool the rest of them into forgetting that only by a miracle is he currently a fledgling businessman rather than a chump who signed a massive cheque away to a woman he hardly knows. And now he expects Peter to keep a secret for him? But Harley explains that it’s not for him. Liz wants it kept secret and―he adds, as Peter begins to roll his eyes at the idea of doing anything just because it’s what _Liz_ wants―so does Michelle.

Vision walks in then, having overheard mention of a secret, and makes some very morally-upright statement on how of _course_ no one’s going to try to extract the secret from Harley. It would be inconsiderate. It would be wrong. It would be fucking awesome, Peter thinks, if Vision could forget everything he heard and leave the room immediately so that Peter can grill Harley on details of Michelle and her involvement in their family’s recent fiasco. Too bad Vision doesn’t pick up on his hints. Peter has to tell Harley, “Nah, obviously you don’t have to say anything else about it, man,” with an easy smile that really isn’t too easy at all to hold up on his face when he wants to open his mouth and ask a million questions.

He and Vision are so different, and maybe a lot of that can be accounted for by the fact that they share ancestry in their dad’s mind, but it doesn’t explain how Peter’s also so different from Harley, his brother in the more traditional sense of the word. And yet, for all their dissimilarities, Peter walks away from this conversation knowing he’s about to do something incredibly Harley-ish: go behind his brother’s back and get the answers he needs elsewhere. What’s his other option? Not knowing how and why Michelle came to be present at Harley and Liz’s contract signing? No way. He’s way too curious for that and, lately, too dogged as well; all of his old instincts have been returning―the same ones that he used to employ to hunt down and root out crime. Kinda makes him sound like one of those truffle-finding pigs, but whatever. He can’t just set something this intriguing aside. He needs to know why Michelle was there and, since he’s not willing to go so far as to break a promise to not weasel the truth out of Harley, this is the right course of action. It’s gotta be.

As Peter struggles not to sprint through the compound, he begins raising and rejecting possibilities inside his head. He just saw Michelle and she didn’t say anything along the lines of being about to leave Vermont for Rhode Island. Sure, something could’ve come up. Maybe she had friends in Providence. He’s never thought she had too many friends, but then there was Betty Brant, her neighbour, who he hadn’t known anything about, and they seemed close. Or Michelle could’ve gone for her painting, in search of a change of scenery. But then why Providence, right in the city? Why not something entirely rural, coastal, peaceful? And in the city, happening to be in the exact neighbourhood in which Happy was hunting for Harley, allowing her to run into him. Ok, say that happened, Peter theorized, but even if she approached his uncle to say hello, it didn’t make sense that she would follow him to Harley, or that Happy would just invite her along for the hell of it. It was a mess―a private, family mess―and Happy’s too prudent to drag an outside party into it. Once Michelle got there and saw Liz, _well_ , that should’ve been the end of it, Peter’s certain. She would not want to hang out anyplace her former practically-a-sister was. He can’t see her bowing to social niceties and acting like everything was fine. Michelle’s the kind of person who would turn around immediately and walk right the fuck away again, guaranteed. It’s settled. Peter can’t work this one out on his own. With a huffed exhalation, he collects himself, then knocks on his aunt and uncle’s bedroom door. Happy the dog gives a sharp, excited bark from within.

It’s his aunt who answers and while Peter’s always been most comfortable opening up to May, he’s pretty sure he needs his uncle on this one. But May stops him in his tracks.

“You heard,” she says.

“What? What did I hear?” Now Peter’s just confusing himself.

“Come on in, honey. Happy’s up in Pepper’s office, but he told me all about it.”

“About what?”

His aunt takes a second to appraise him, leaning against the doorframe with an understanding smile.

“Only finding out Michelle was in Providence could’ve put that look on your face,” she informs him.

“What look? I have a look?” He thought he was ready for this and now he feels scattered and transparent. Can’t he just _casually_ ask about Michelle Jones?

“Yeah, Pete. It’s sorta between hopeful and terrified. Why don’t you come in and we can talk about it?”

Peter sighs heavily and nods.

“That might be a good idea.”

When they’re seated opposite each other in the sitting-area portion of the space and the dog’s calmed enough to sit on Peter’s lap instead of presenting him with its toys one by one and waiting for a game of fetch to begin, he starts over, the way he meant to the first time.

“Michelle was there,” he recaps. “Harley said that’s supposed to be a secret, but I can’t see why it’d be a secret, or why she was there!”

Already, he’s agitated, restless for answers. Peter pets the dog, scratching the top of Happy’s head, then long strokes down his back. He’s not sure who’s soothing who.

“If somebody doesn’t explain this to me, I’m gonna go nuts. Or get Harley drunk and make _him_ tell me. And I’d probably feel bad about that at some point, so I really need your intervention here, May,” he pleads. “For the sake of Harley’s liver.”

“Ok,” his aunt assures him with a smile, scooting forward to pat his knee.

“Ok,” Peter agrees.

He takes a deep breath, trusting that May will tell him everything he wants to know. Probably more than he can think to ask. He’s so fortunate in their closeness. Happy turns his black and white head to look at Peter like he’s checking on him. Peter raises his eyebrows at the dog in response and gets a swift lick to the nose that he could’ve dodged if his defenses weren’t down, ready to let news of Michelle in.

“I think Happy wondered if you knew,” May begins. When Peter frowns, she waves away her own thought and carries on. “He didn’t know how long Michelle had been in town, but when they ran into each other the morning that Happy finally hunted Harley down, it wasn’t her first time visiting our pair of fugitives. Michelle told him that she’d spoken to both Harley and Liz. Now, this is just me guessing, but Michelle must have left her cottage the day after we did, maybe the day after that.”

“Why didn’t she... why wouldn’t she have told us she was doing that?”

“Well,” his aunt says thoughtfully, “if I’d been in her place, knowing what a serious situation it was, I might’ve not wanted to say anything until I was _sure_ I could help. Just being another rogue piece in the game could have been a distraction to everyone trying to find Harley, rather than a help.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true. I bet that’s why Michelle didn’t text me back,” Peter realizes, recalling the desperate messages he sent her after Harley’s DMs hinted that he was in Rhode Island. “She was either driving or she was already there, talking to Harley. I thought I was bothering her,” he mumbles to himself in conclusion.

May nods along, presumably not with that last part, then continues.

“Michelle saw Happy searching College Hill and took him straight to the residence apartment Harley and Liz were hiding out in.”

“But how did _she_ find them? Why did she come?”

“She told Happy that she wanted to go to art school since she was a kid and that it was something Liz encouraged her to do, before her parents accepted that it was anything bigger than a hobby. Apparently, they’d had a plan to visit a bunch of colleges together. You know, take road trips to these places. Michelle said it was how they’d planned to spend time together while she was still in high school and Liz had gone on to college. But Liz moved across the country after her dad’s arrest and the girls had only managed to scope out Michelle’s options within NYC. One of the schools Liz had always pushed Michelle towards was the Rhode Island School of Design. According to Michelle, it was the place Liz was most excited to visit, the trip she’d done the most planning for.”

“RISD is in College Hill, isn’t it?” Peter guessed.

“Yes. Happy said Michelle was a little wired. Though she’d beaten him there, the drive from her place would’ve been... almost five hours, and she said she made it without stops. As for why...” May gives him one of her smiles, the ones that say he already knows the answer if he’d just be honest with himself. “What she told Happy was that she felt responsible.”

“Responsible? _How_? She didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“Honey, Michelle thought it should’ve been her job to tell us that Liz was into some shady stuff and that she’d been manipulative in the past to keep her business going. She told Happy that she’d never been open about it before because she was doing her best to live her life without Liz and the bad memories that she attached to her. The death of her parents. Of course, I doubt that was the _only_ reason Michelle raced down to Providence...”

Peter doesn’t bite.

“Anyway,” May says with a sigh, “the first thing Michelle did when she found Harley and Liz, before Happy had ever arrived, was talk to Harley alone. She tried to convince him to leave, to get in her car and be driven back to the compound. He wasn’t interested.”

“’Course not,” he groans, pressing his cheek to the top of Happy’s head.

“Harley told her that he figured a contract was something he and Liz would get around to at some point, but he wasn’t in any hurry. After Michelle cornered Liz and spoke to _her_ , she found out that she didn’t have any intention of getting around to a contract at _all_. There was some convincing there.”

“But how did Michelle convince her?” Peter wants to know. It seems like there’s an important part of the story missing here. “No matter how much she wanted to help, I know she wouldn’t have bribed Liz with money. Besides, Harley’d already covered that.”

“I don’t know,” his aunt says with a shrug. “I just know that when Michelle brought your uncle to them, he found two people ready to sign a contract. I’m sure they haggled a little over the details, but he didn’t have to talk Liz into the idea in general.”

“Huh.” He thinks of something and sits up straight, jostling Happy a little until he clutches the dog against him. “Is Michelle still there? In Providence?”

“No, Pete, she went back to Vermont. Monica and the Maximoffs were still guests at the cottage.”

“Oh. Ok.” He sags.

“You’re disappointed.”

“Yeah.”

“Me too,” May admits. Peter meets her eye. “That Michelle is one in a million. I’m sure she thought about seeing you.”

“Oh, well, I... I don’t think she... I wouldn’t have...” he stammers.

“Sure you would’ve,” she counters with a smile. “I don’t think you’ve seen the last of each other.”

Peter sorta smiles, sorta nods, and helps the dog hop down from his lap before heading to the door with his eyebrows drawn together in thought. He hopes his aunt isn’t planning to come out right away; after closing the door behind him, he leans back against the wall right next to it and runs a hand through his hair. He’s not even sure whether he’s happy or upset, relieved or heartsick. All? None? He’s _something_. A big something that’s pushing at his insides like it’s trying to make room between his organs, searching for space to fill with this feeling he has when he thinks of Michelle helping Harley, helping Happy, helping Liz, helping _him_ ―Peter. She went to Providence on purpose and stayed long enough to make sure neither Harley nor Liz behaved any worse than they already had.

Liz! Michelle sought Liz, talked to her, somehow brought her around to the idea of the contract, setting aside her feelings of betrayal and deception to do so. Michelle faced the woman who took advantage of her parents’ generosity while they were Snapped and requested more from their daughter after their deaths, like it was due to her, when, meanwhile, that money had become Michelle’s inheritance, the only way her parents would ever be able to take care of her again. Liz, who had also attempted to use Michelle’s cousin Monica’s job to her advantage to gain access to confidential military technology. God, that must’ve been right at the front of Michelle’s mind when she saw Liz’s face too, since Monica’s been staying with her at the cottage. Michelle went to _Liz_. If they were ever meant to meet again, Peter thinks, it should’ve been Liz coming to Michelle to apologize and ask for forgiveness. What did it take for Michelle to knock on every door in that neighbour, in that residence building, along that hallway, knowing that each one might be the one Liz would open? It wasn’t as simple as resolving to stop Liz and just stopping her; Michelle had to devote time and effort to the search. Peter’s amazed, actually feels a little lightheaded as he stands there, clutching his hair away from his face.

 _For you_ , a small voice tells him. _She did it for you_. It’s the sound of the space inside him, the space his body and mind are making for Michelle. He wraps his free arm around himself to keep that fragile, hopeful thought contained as other parts of him begin to counter it. He’s being the self-centered Stark her past criticisms have warned him away from becoming. Peter rejected her! Then, when they seemed like they could maybe be friends (even if he did want more than that), he fled Vermont essentially because of _Liz_. Was that like choosing Liz over Michelle? Again? Yeah, there was no way that Michelle helped Harley for his sake. It must be what she told Happy and Happy told May and May told him: that she felt responsible for Liz’s misdeed. Who cares about what May was trying to insinuate? The reason Michelle gave Happy makes sense. After working to fix this problem, after putting herself in a possibly awkward and definitely painful situation, she’ll want to stay far away from Liz for the rest of her life. Being around Peter (let alone dating him) could bring the two women back into proximity. Michelle wouldn’t. The risk would never be worth it.

Still. She must think about him. From what she said once, she considers Harley the second-worst offender in his family, after Tony. It’s not like helping Harley would’ve been all the incentive she needed. That was just another negative on top of how she feels about Liz―a spoiled bonehead and an irreverent schemer. The only positive Michelle might find in the scenario could be the thought of making life easier for Peter. Which would be kind, would be selfless, would be a way of finally pulling someone close instead of pushing them away. Michelle’s so choosy with her friends, she’s so astoundingly careful. If Peter still means anything at all to her… he’s moved. This means she forgave him. She liked him and hated him and liked him again, which she once said was impossible. She could never learn to like someone. Huh. Michelle’s changed on him, when he wasn’t looking.

Pushing off the wall, Peter doesn’t reach the end of the hallway before Liz turns down it. Stupidly, he glances backwards, like he’s afraid of being near her. She can’t do anything to him now.

“Sorry,” she says in that same soft voice. “Harley asked me to meet him in his workshop and I can’t remember how to get there. I thought… this way?” Now she’s the one glancing around and he can tell she’s just as panicked to find herself accidentally alone with him.

“It’s actually back… Well,” he decides, “I’ll just show you. Come on.”

He’s leading her back across the compound, darting glances at her from the corner of his eye every so often as he nervously swings his arms, when she speaks again.

“We’re friends, Peter, right?”

“Friends?” A few months ago, he would’ve been sufficiently uncoordinated and out of sync with his surroundings to trip hearing Liz say that. He carefully responds, “Yeah, sure, Liz. We’re friends.”

As if he’s going to say or do anything to make waves. This is the time to let everything settle. Soon, she and Harley will be heading back to Boston. He can get through this.

“And maybe we can be even better friends now?” she suggests.

“Now that you’re part of my family’s business, you mean? I guess so. Is anybody else walking down to the workshop with you? Morgan maybe?”

Peter doesn’t want to talk about the business or the way she became a part of it. Maybe they can walk faster. He should’ve just given her directions. Drawn her a map.

“I don’t think so. Anyway, I heard from your uncle Happy that you guys were up in Vermont. Is that true?” He barely nods, wary. Liz asks, “And you saw the Joneses’ cottage?”

“Mhmm.”

Peter holds the door to the stairwell open for her so they won’t have to wait for the elevator.

“I’m jealous,” Liz says with a smile as she passes him in the doorway. “It’s been a long time since I spent my summer holidays up there. I was only there in the spring a couple of times, but I remember it being really pretty.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “It’s really pretty there.”

“Does Betty still live next door?”

“Yep.”

“She probably doesn’t remember me.”

“No, she does.”

“Oh yeah?” Liz looks genuinely curious. “What did she say about me?”

“Just that you used to go up there a lot. That you moved away. That you and Michelle didn’t stay close.”

He almost adds that Michelle still has her painting of Liz hung in her gallery, but he’s not sure that’s his information to share. Yes, the cottage is open to the public for tours. That doesn’t mean that most people who walk through it would understand the significance of that portrait in particular, see the happiness in the subject’s face and know how short a time remained for the painter and subject to make each other happy. Peter doubts Michelle imagines Liz will ever be in that place again to see it for herself.

Maybe she’ll stop asking questions now and they’ll spend the last part of their trip to Harley’s workshop in peace.

“And when you were there,” Liz begins again, holding her hands clasped together in front of her, “at the cottage… did you run into her? MJ? I think your uncle mentioned meeting her.”

“We saw her,” he confirms. After a few seconds, while it looks like Liz is still turning that over, he adds, “She introduced us to her cousin Monica too.”

“Oh.”

“She’s really great,” Peter says enthusiastically. “Super smart and accomplished and just… straightforward, you know? _Honest_. No bullshit.”

“Right. That’s… I’m happy for her.”

“It sounded like she’s been through a lot in her job,” he says, unable to stop himself from pressing a little further. “She always had to overperform at everything to keep her spot.”

Liz nods cautiously.

“Any black female pilot with two moms would have to be pretty determined to deal with all the obstacles I’m sure Monica’s faced.”

“I know!” he says eagerly. “I mean, I don’t know, but I listened to Monica talk about it. Didn’t sound like anybody would’ve given her a second chance. It’s good she never took any risks with her career.”

That last remark has Liz struggling to reply. Peter feels some satisfaction on Michelle’s behalf that he prompted Liz to recognize the difficult position Monica was already in, the environment she dealt with where more people wanted to watch her fail than help her succeed. He wonders if Liz considered the precariousness of Monica’s career six years ago when she tried to use Michelle’s cousin’s position for her own advantage.

“Here we are,” he says outside Harley’s workshop, voice chipper with self-satisfaction. But Liz’s expression is dejected.

Peter thinks of her new contract with Harley, the ink barely dry. He thinks of his own fight to overcome his past. Always measuring himself against the person he was, the raw, skittish boy who returned in the Second Snap with all the memories of fighting Thanos before the First. Maybe Liz’s latest offense isn’t too far behind her (just days ago), but he shouldn’t rub her nose in her impulsive choices. She’s part of Stark Industries now. They mitigated the outcome. Hopefully, with the stability that joining SI provides, Liz won’t feel the need to pull anything like that again.

“Friends,” Peter offers, along with his hand.

Liz studies him, looking thrown and uncertain, but ultimately presses her palm to his.

* * *

It doesn’t last forever. Neither of them makes things awkward for the other by bringing up the cottage or Monica or Michelle, Peter begins to feel comfortable at home again, and Liz and Harley finally leave. They’re following May, Happy, and smaller, furrier Happy, who departed for their home in Queens a couple days earlier. With Tony’s help, Harley’s narrowed his living and workspace choices down to two apiece and has agreed to let his dad keep being a part of his decision by consulting him through videocalls. Peter knows their dad’s a little bummed, but this is the compromise―between him and Harley and him and his wife. (Pepper’s still encouraging Tony to force Harley to stand on his own two feet and take some responsibility for himself.) Liz’s smile when Harley informs his family that he’ll be living at her apartment until he signs a lease of his own is strained. Well, Peter thinks, she wanted to be with Harley badly enough that she made that getaway from Boston with him. Now she really gets to _be_ with Harley. See how that works out.

“Gosh,” Tony says, “I feel like we’re never gonna see each other.”

He’s teary-eyed and sitting in his wheelchair for the send-off. Peter knows his game and he’s certain his brother does too. Sure enough, Harley smirks at his dad’s tactics.

“Tomorrow, Dad. You’ll see me literally tomorrow when you call me. I promise I won’t block it.”

“That’s just because you know I could have FRIDAY override it,” their dad replies petulantly.

“No way,” Harley argues. They’re playing each other. “I need you. You’re the biggest real estate geek I know.”

“Did you just call me a _geek_?”

“Maybe.”

“ _Excuse_ me. That’s genius, billionaire, play―”

“Yeah, yeah. And you assholes better call me too,” he says, turning to his siblings.

“ _Harley_ ,” Tony chastises as his shoulders slump in exasperation. “For fuck’s sake, don’t call your little sister an asshole.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Morgan says for emphasis, pointing a stern finger at her departing brother.

Pepper’s face disappears into her hand and she groans quietly. Peter grabs his sister by the shoulders and tugs her back against him. She’s tough now, but she’s gonna be sad when Harley goes. She was little when he went off to college and though she grew sad whenever he came home during holidays and headed back again, she always got over it pretty fast. This time, she’s spent the majority of every day of the past year with Harley. As Peter looks down at the top of her head (which has become alarmingly close―she’s definitely inheriting their mom’s height where he got their dad’s), he notices Nebula reach out to take her hand. She might be the one to get Morgan through this separation, more than any of them. She understands the strength of the bond between sisters.

“Well,” Tony says heavily as Liz and Harley drive off again. They’re in a less flashy (but no less expensive) car for their return trip.

“They’ll be ok, Tony,” Pepper says, crouching at his side and tucking her arm up under hers. Her husband clutches her hand and scrunches his face as he nods, like he does when he’s holding back tears. “It didn’t start out great, but Liz is young. She’s willing to change. She’s shrewd and inventive and I think Harley’s going to be so busy trying to impress her that he won’t even realize that he’s turning into the man we’ve hoped he’d be.”

“I just don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do around here without that goober.”

Peter thinks his dad probably agrees with everything Mom says, but Tony still mopes around for the rest of the day. Reminds Peter of Harley before his invitation to Boston. It must remind Morgan of her brother too, because she goes into intense Daddy’s Girl mode, always at Tony’s side, ready to be his right-hand man. Even in the workshop, where she’s normally forbidden unless a real grownup (their mom’s words) is there to supervise. That includes making sure Morgan’s wearing protective equipment and standing as far away from whatever Tony’s doing as possible.

Nebula helps Morgan through her sulky pining, exactly as Peter anticipated, and distraction helps their dad. The restaurant at the Park announces on social media that their owner and celebrated chef, Wanda Maximoff, will be returning. It’s promoted as a limited engagement and Peter wonders if that’s true, if she’s really coming back, if it’s just for a little while, if it’s for a _longer_ while and they’re only saying it’s a little while to create a scramble for reservations. Is his family going to eat there while she’s back? Will they go over to say hello? Shit, this is confusing. It’s Wanda! But, it’s _Wanda_. She’s both Peter’s friend and the core of the aura of heartbreak that’s never completely abandoned Vision. On her own account, she confirms her return to the Park and declares that she’ll be heading Upstate in advance of her first night as head chef to review the menu and refamiliarize herself with the kitchen she herself installed last fall. That means she’s coming soon. Of course, Tony won’t leave Vision alone about it. His distraction is in danger of becoming Vision’s torture, as much as Peter tries to intervene.

“I mean, it doesn’t matter,” their dad says, right after mentioning Wanda again. Does he think Peter can’t see him scrutinizing Vision as he speaks, checking for a reaction? “If the restaurant can run without her, let it run without her! They obviously don’t need her here. _We_ don’t need her here. Sure, it’d be nice to see her, have her over for dinner, catch up, hero-to-hero... Definitely not necessary. If she decides to stay, then she stays. Who cares? We sure don’t. She might not even come.”

“She is though,” Morgan informs him. She bounces onto the couch next to him. “I saw on Twitter―”

“Are you still logged in to Harley’s account?” Peter asks. His sister sticks her tongue out at him.

“Wanda’s coming tomorrow,” she finishes. “I wonder if she’ll bring me something from the city.”

In the very short time since Harley’s been gone, Morgan has become obsessed with ‘the city.’ Any city, really. New York, Boston, the kid is itching for city life. Pepper told Peter that his sister has rearranged her clothes based on which ones are ‘for the city.’ Thank god she’s not older, he thinks. She’s such a little Harley sometimes.

“Why would she bring you something?”

Morgan flashes an extremely grumpy face at Peter, like how _dare_ he question the natural human instinct people who have met her feel to present her with gifts. She hunkers into their dad’s side.

“Peter’s being mean to me,” she tells Tony.

“Oh, for...” Peter rolls his eyes and leaves the room.

He can’t be alone though because that’s when his thoughts find him. He tried working out, but only people seem to have the power of keeping his mind off certain residents of Vermont and their deeply confusing actions. Automatically, he goes looking for Vision. Peter finds his brother just leaving their mom’s office after consulting with her on some profit and loss data for Liz Allan Technology Evolution.

“I know what you’re about to say,” Vision begins before Peter can get a single word out.

“Yeah, you probably do.”

“You’re concerned about me, because of what Tony informed us of. Miss Maximoff’s return,” he says. It looks like he forced himself to spit that out. “It’s possible that I appeared... conflicted, perhaps _troubled_ , at the mention of her name, but I must assure you that I am not.”

“You’re not what? Conflicted or troubled?” Peter smiles gently. He doesn’t actually want to stress his brother out over this.

“A little of the former, I’ll admit, though likely no more than any of the rest of you were. Any of us might have seen that same expression on the face of any other because this is unexpected. Regardless, I have since grown accustomed to the fact of Miss Maximoff’s imminent arrival. It no longer strikes me as peculiar or surprising. It no longer strikes me at all.”

Peter raises his eyebrows in disbelief. His brother’s clearly in denial, pretending not to care and probably forcing himself to believe that Wanda doesn’t care either. If the last any of them heard of Wanda was when she left the Park, then yeah, ok, he’d believe she was simply back to check up on her business. But Peter just saw her in Vermont. He talked to her, spent time with her, and gathered enough to be pretty damn certain that she’s still into Vision. With that attachment as an established fact (and Peter will establish it, even if his brother wants to ignore it), there’s no way Vision isn’t at the very front of Wanda’s thoughts right now. The only thing in question, in Peter’s opinion, is whether Wanda’s returning with Michelle’s blessing or without it. Did the two women ever discuss what he said to Michelle on the roof in Tribeca the way he discussed (most of) Michelle’s letter with Vision? Without that information, this is too complex for Peter to figure out.

The more Vision claims to be unaffected, the more on edge he becomes. He’s been closing himself off since he and Wanda parted, Peter’s witnessed it, and suddenly, he’s more profoundly human than ever. Even before she arrives, she influences Vision. Peter doesn’t know if that’s some superhuman matching-energy-signatures thing or nerves. The robotic coolness his brother worked to shelter himself within is gone and he’s a rambling, bumbling, self-conscious mess as he pretends he’s not spending every moment awaiting Wanda’s arrival. Peter can’t imagine a world where these two exist and don’t care about each other. Vision can lie to himself all he wants; he’s obviously still in love.

* * *

“You gonna go over there, Pep?” Tony asks slyly over his coffee the next morning.

“Take your meds, Tony,” she replies calmly, pushing a glass of orange juice towards him.

He pops a capsule into his mouth and washes it down, trading the rich bitterness on his tongue for acidic tang. It’s awful, and just enough to cover the medicinal taste of the coating on his pills. After swallowing, he shivers and grimaces.

“Are you though?” he presses.

He snatches one of his wife’s hands away from the tablet she’s cradling, always working, always examining their numbers. There’s a big meeting on the horizon, he knows. They’ve decided to proceed with one of Pepper’s early suggestions and attempt to buy back shares from some of their investors. If LATE performs well, and they can acquire a few more promising start-ups for not too much money, they’ll regain the pull to take back the majority stake in Stark Industries. This time, they’ll be keeping things diverse, not putting all of their eggs in the technology basket. They’re adapting. His dad’s dream of a flying car in every driveway in America? They can get around to it. Tony rubs his thumb across Pepper’s palm and knows they have time.

“Mmm,” she says, and at first he thinks she’s just enjoying his touch on her hand. “Isn’t that what you wanted me to do last November? For the good of the kids, I think you said? Something like that? And then your real reason was to try to buy control of her restaurant. How did that work out? Remind me.”

“So sarcastic today! I like it.”

Pepper smiles like she’s sick of him and Tony grins.

“Stop it,” she says.

“You have to at least say hello. Be neighbourly.”

“You might recall that I’m in the middle of something here,” she says, tilting the screen of her tablet towards him briefly. “Wanda can stop by the compound in her own time.”

“Of course,” Tony gushes. “Of _course_ she can, but it doesn’t change the fact that we’re, you know, the big fish in the neighbourhood and it’ll be weird if we don’t make a gesture.”

“A gesture?”

“Invite her over! Make dinner reservations at the Park!”

“You told me those booked up pretty much immediately,” Pepper reminds him, still smiling, but with suspicion in her eyes.

“Pep, who do you think you’re married to? I’m Tony Stark. I’ll make it happen.”

“You’re an arrogant pain in the ass,” she says as she leans over to kiss him.

That’s not a yes to Tony’s request, but it’s not a no either. It _is_ enough to pacify him between their absurdly early breakfast (he has to get up with her or he’ll never see her―she’s spending too much time in her office these days) and the time he rolls into his workshop. Morgan appears, awake by then, and rushes in at his side. Nebula shadows her and Tony’s considering a quick paper football tournament when he gets a security alert. The cameras are picking something up. He and his daughters stare at the live footage. _Well, shit_ , he thinks. Not only is Wanda Maximoff back in the neighbourhood, she’s _here_ , driving up to the compound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I only have one chapter left to write, so I can tell you with confidence that this story will conclude with chapter 30 (though, because of my character page, the final update will appear as chapter 31). That's still four chapters and over 20,000 words to go! It ain't over yet!
> 
> The theme for the next chapter is Dinner & Denial or, if you prefer, Pie & Pining.


	28. Neighbours Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "His behaviour to her sister was such, during dinner time, as shewed an admiration of her, which, though more guarded than formerly, persuaded Elizabeth, that if left wholly to himself, Jane’s happiness, and his own, would be speedily secured." - _Pride and Prejudice_ , ch. 54

“Brother, believe me, my feelings on the subject are utterly neutral,” Vision persists as Peter rolls his eyes.

“Wanda’s not a _subject_ , she’s a woman. A woman you were pretty into and it’s ok if you’re not anymore, but you can’t pretend that you don’t feel _anything_ about seeing her again.”

“I am neutral,” his brother repeats.

Peter groans.

“Man, quit it. It’s gonna be too hard to be neutral when you see her, don’t you think? Maybe you should practice being―”

“SHE’S HERE,” Morgan screams, streaming through the living room they _were_ sitting together peacefully in.

“Who?” Peter calls after her. “I know you memorized Dad’s credit card number, but that doesn’t mean it’s responsible to order pizza every time he―”

“WANDA,” his little sister shrieks, slicing clean across his lecture on responsibility.

Ok, not an unauthorized food delivery then. This is way more serious. Peter and Vision exchange frantic looks as Nebula slips into the room, likely trailing Morgan without quite equaling the enthusiasm that led their little sister to sprint. In a second, their dad’s wheeling in so fast that he clips the edge of a table that sways precariously, sending a ceramic vase full of flowers crashing to the floor. It shatters. Tony looks at his kids; the kids look at Tony.

“She’s in the driveway,” he says, eyes wide.

Instantly, Vision’s collecting the broken pieces of vase and depositing them into the drawer of the very table the unbroken vessel used to sit atop. Nebula snatches a thin, decorative blanket off the back of a chair and hurls it at the wet spot on the floor. She mops it around a minute, heedless of a couple remaining shards of ceramic, before yanking it up again. Eyeing the spill of flowers, she decides that part of the problem is someone else’s to deal with and satisfies herself with whipping the sodden blanket beneath the chair. Vision gives her a reproving look which Nebula counters with a challenging glare. With a sigh, he bends to gather the strewn stems, glancing around for some manner of pitcher to hold them.

Meanwhile, Peter’s joined his little sister at the window, needing to confirm the arrival for himself. Sure enough, there’s Wanda, exiting her car, but then _Michelle_ gets out of the passenger’s side.

“Hey, Dad,” Morgan says, “I didn’t see _her_ on the camera.”

Peter turns away from the window so quickly that he trips over the edge of the rug. Nebula braces one hand on the back of the couch and catches Peter’s arm with the other. He exhales in relief when he gets his balance and she gives him a reassuring nod.

“Who?” Tony asks as his children work around him.

Everything’s fine until Peter glances down and sees a smear of blood on the couch; Nebula cut her hand on a piece of the vase. He springs over the couch in a hasty flip, grabs the wet blanket from under the chair, rings it out over the rug, and lays it over the bloodstain as Nebula uses a corner of the blanket as a compress for her hand. The bleeding tapers off quickly and she folds that bit of blanket under so it can’t be seen.

“You know, the other girl,” Morgan elaborates, still spying through the window. “Whatshername that lived with Wanda. The one who stares at everybody like she’s thinking about killing ‘em.”

“There are two people who do that?” Tony jokes, tossing a pointed look towards Nebula.

“The difference is follow-through,” Nebula explains menacingly. “When I stare at someone like I’m going to kill them, it’s the last thing they ever see. That stare is a promise.”

“I love you, Neb, you’re so weird,” her little sister says as she finally steps away from the window.

While Nebula appears uncharacteristically choked up, Morgan soldiers on. She walks up to Vision, who’s still trying to solve the problem of where to put the flowers, and snatches them out of his hand. He looks helplessly at his brother over their little sister’s head and Peter regrets pushing him about Wanda a minute ago. Now Michelle’s here too and he knows exactly how Vision feels. Of course, Vision can’t know that Peter understands so completely. He hasn’t told his brother about the gradual change in his feelings for Michelle, all the progress they made in Vermont, how he seemed to lose it all when he had to come home to help with the Harley situation. That was the final time he’d see her, he thought. When he stood alone in that parking lot as Michelle drove away. But now she’s back and she’s here and, as far as he can conjecture, she’s going to walk into his house. The fact of her being Upstate is as insane as running into her in Vermont and not having her rip his head off for the way he acted in Tribeca. When did they assemble this history with each other? It seems to go back and back and back now, like flipping through a deck of cards. Peter wants a shuffle that ends in overturning the queen of Hearts. He wants a spinning wheel of possibilities with an arrow that lands on her. He wants her to know that she’s painted his black-and-white sight with a million colours. He wants her return to mean that she loves him.

“Wanda can be the buffer,” Tony says, catching Peter’s eye as he suddenly wheels towards the front door, “because Michelle Jones and I aren’t fans of each other, from what I remember.”

God, he hopes his dad doesn’t say something just to cause drama. He has to get ahead of him. The five of them―Tony, Peter, Nebula, Vision, and Morgan―end up tumbling to the door together, swinging it open as Wanda’s about to knock. Vision’s all dressed up as his human self, putting in an effort that Peter would give him a smirk over if he wasn’t freaking out so fucking hard himself. He looks down at his feet, which are bare. He’s not even wearing socks. Is that strange? Will she hate him? Oh man.

As he stares straight into Michelle’s careful brown eyes, Peter barely hears everybody else greeting each other, aside from Morgan presenting Wanda with her handful of flowers and saying, “These are for you.” When she adds, “They’re from Vision,” Peter sees his brother’s human skin flush like it’s trying to phase back to his natural red.

“Hey,” he breathes as the rest of his family hustles Wanda into the living room that’s a train wreck beneath a thin veneer of unorthodox tidying.

“Hey,” Michelle replies.

They capture each other’s gaze for a minute, then break away as he waves her ahead of him into the living room. Her walk is tense, her arms hardly swing, but Peter almost reaches out to take her dangling hand. He can’t seem to get ahold of himself. He watches her sneakers and remembers her rain boots. When Vision and Nebula go to the kitchen to grab everyone a drink, Peter stares hard at the wet spot on the rug. If he had more presence of mind, he’d be staring because he hopes no one will notice it, but that’s not his reason. He’s just terrified to look up. If he looks at Michelle again, he might not be able to stop.

He risks it.

She’s closer to herself from before―from the Park and Tribeca before Valentine’s Day―than to how he’s seen her look lately. More pulled into herself, cautious and thoughtful. But not judgemental or sarcastic; her expression doesn’t sour even when Tony fishes for a response with a few bombastic statements about his own importance. Peter guesses it’s hard for her not to react, then he realizes that the look on her face _is_ a reaction, sort of. Michelle’s tempering her expression instead of openly glaring or scowling at Tony. She won’t be relaxed in front of him, like she was with Peter and the Hogans, but she’s clearly trying not to be overtly negative either. Peter’s heart quivers like Jell-O.

Wanda’s much more open, as she always is, but also restless. She’s not the way she used to be at home at the Park and her proximity to Vision is likely to blame. Tony doesn’t pick up on that. He’s too interested in hearing her new plans for the restaurant and overstating how happy they all are to have her back in the neighbourhood. Peter wishes his dad would save just a little of that enthusiasm for the way he speaks to Michelle. _She_ found Harley. _She_ did something to talk Liz into signing the contract that Tony’s been so thrilled about. Ugh, Peter wishes his dad knew! But it’s a secret. Maybe Michelle’s glad that Tony isn’t suddenly being as crazy nice to her as he is to Wanda. She’d probably think it’s phony and it would be, at least partially, until Tony spends enough time around her to actually trust her and the favour she did them. Peter just grips his knees through his jeans and mentally commands his dad to try to treat both of their guests with equal hospitality.

“How are May and Happy?” Michelle asks, making him look up in surprise. She’s looking at him and he clears his throat.

“Oh,” he says, voice coming out a little high, “they’re good. They’re home in Queens now. How’s Monica?”

“Good. Back at the base.”

They aren’t sitting that close together so after they spend a few seconds too long nodding at each other like some kind of battle of the bobbleheads, unable to carry on a conversation, they both look away. They were better at this in Vermont. When he didn’t have the balls to talk to Michelle directly, he talked to her friends or her cousin, and she talked to his aunt and uncle. Well, they’re still surrounded by friends and family, but it’s apparently not enough to help them get un-tongue-tied. Peter looks at Nebula―the most composed person in the room―in an attempt to regain his emotional equilibrium. He misses the sound of Michelle’s voice. And yet, whenever she speaks today, he can barely hear her because his heart is thudding so loud.

He’s really, really bad at not glancing at Michelle though. Sometimes, she’s staring right back at him, but most of the time, she’s looking at Vision. Does that have something to do with what she said in her letter, that she didn’t really understand Vision before? Or is this about why Wanda happened to show up on their doorstep? Did Michelle make that happen? If so, she knew it would be awkward for her to enter the compound and see Peter, but she did it anyway to be here for Wanda when she saw Vision again. So maybe Michelle’s not here for him. He does his best not to feel hurt, hiding it when her eyes sweep over to him once more.

“You’ve been gone some time, huh?” Tony asks Wanda.

It startles Peter, but he decides he can be all about Wanda and Vision too. He can focus on them and not on Michelle.

“I have,” Wanda agrees with a quick laugh.

“We weren’t sure we’d see you around here again, with the Park doing so well. Seems like you know what you’re doing with managing that place.”

“I have a knack for some things.”

“Business,” Tony agrees. He leans forward in his wheelchair, linking his fingers in his lap. In his imagination, Peter sees his dad crossing his legs too, all trademarks of Tony Stark’s eager body language. “ _Yes_. We’ve been going through a few changes of our own. A few growing pains.” He smirks, shrugging this off. “The Leedses’ son has a fancy job in the city now, you might’ve heard about that, but Harley’s the big news around here. Quite the enterprising young man.”

“Yes,” Wanda jumps in, “I heard about the new branch of your company he’s heading, working with a tech start-up, is that right?”

Peter glances at everyone but Michelle. Wanda’s handling the topic with delicacy and he wonders if she knows the part her best friend played in averting the Starks’ social and financial ruin.

“Mhmm. You know, it made me feel old,” Tony says, tone oddly reflective. It startles Peter. His dad never mentioned anything like that before. “I spent decades right _there_ , on the cutting edge, and I was the guy holding the scissors. I felt like most people I knew were waking up to smell the coffee while I was waking up to taste the future.”

Morgan tries to get his attention by slumping over in front of him, giving Tony that _huh?_ look they’d all swear she perfected by about three months old, but Peter taps his sister’s leg with his foot, distracting her long enough for their dad to keep talking.

“This snapped me out of the daydream that I was still that version of myself,” he continues. “I realized I’d been thinking more about the company as this big, capital T _thing_ than what it really stands for, the parts and the possibilities. I slowed down because I thought I was creating stability for my family. I know you can relate, Wanda.”

She nods, rapt.

“But I don’t know,” Tony says as he rubs his chin. “Doesn’t feel right, looking back. I want to revitalize Stark Industries, for my kids. And luckily, it looks like I don’t have any complacent leeches who plan to sit around and spend my money―”

“Daddy’s money,” Morgan offers, making Peter’s eyes widen. It’s like she hung onto that phrase for months just to parrot it now when the woman who used it against her brother is sitting right there.

“―without contributing. My kids are curious. They want to _build_. Don’t get me wrong, I also wish I could keep them close to me forever.” He cracks a smile, shaking off his introspection.

“I feel like that about my brother sometimes,” Wanda confesses. “Only recently, I began to understand the danger of us being too protective of each other. There were frightening times when Brad and I were truly all we had in the world, but... I’ve learned that holding onto the people we love most too tightly can be detrimental to our happiness.” The space between her eyebrows furrows. “Love is change and it’s _risk_. It’s not always a solid thing you have right in front of you so much as it’s a vision.”

Wanda stutters to a stop, gaze flashing to Peter’s brother who looks far from composed.

“That’s what I’ve found,” she mumbles in conclusion. Her eyes are on her hands as they smooth her skirt over her knees.

“You think you’ll stay Upstate awhile?” Peter pipes up to cover the awkwardness.

“I was thinking until the end of May,” Wanda says, looking grateful for his intervention, “but I might stay longer. It depends on... a few things.”

She glances quickly towards Vision and Peter smiles to himself.

“Well, we hope to see a lot of you,” Tony asserts.

 _Don’t push, Dad_ , Peter thinks. Wanda and Vision clearly still have a chance here, but whatever’s between them was so fragile last time. Interference could be enough to make them call the whole thing off before they’ve really even talked. He’s so panicked over their dad’s potential meddling that he doesn’t immediately notice when Vision and Wanda start to hold each other’s stare instead of glancing shyly away whenever their eyes meet. It’s Michelle who tips Peter off; he looks at her and sees that she’s watching Vision. When Peter appraises at his brother, Vision’s taking his time studying Wanda’s face. In return, she’s now sitting forward. The hands that were curled in her lap are turning palm-up, apparently unconsciously presented to Vision, and beginning to glow a faint red. It looks like they want to reach out to each other, if not with their hands then with their minds. Peter envies the compatibility of their energy signatures. He longs for something that unambiguous to tell him how Michelle’s feeling about him.

“Talk to her,” Peter whispers, leaning close to his brother.

And he tries, but it’s like Ned said at the open house in the fall―Vision needs to do more than just be polite. Peter’s sure his brother probably thinks he’s behaving correctly, but either he’s still resisting making himself vulnerable to Wanda a second time or he’s once again underestimating how obvious he needs to be with his affections.

“Hey,” Tony says to Wanda when the conversation seems to be heading towards a natural close, “why don’t you come over for dinner soon? You and Michelle and your brother.”

“Brad’s not with us. After Vermont, he went back to the city.”

Peter’s never heard such good news.

“The two of you then,” Tony says. “You promised to give us a shot at cooking for you.”

Wanda laughs good-naturedly, sounding just a little bit off as she tears her gaze away from Vision.

“Did I?”

“You sure did. The night of the Park’s open house.”

“Oh, well, we’ll have to figure out a day,” she says noncommittally. She glances again at Vision as she and Michelle rise from their seats. She appears regretful now, uncertain, like she was looking for something before she had to leave and isn’t sure if she found it.

“I’ll have Pepper call you,” Tony says, still a little too pushy, in Peter’s opinion, as he wheels after their guests to the front door.

Peter finds himself following too. His heart races, trying to get a last look as their visitors exit, his dad beginning to close the door. At the last second, Michelle glances over her shoulder, finding his eyes. He’s so focused on staring back at her that he forgets to smile.

When he turns around, he almost collides with Vision. He didn’t realize his brother came to get a final peek at their guests as well. Continuing to be in sync, the two of them drift back to the living room. Their dad’s debating with Morgan and Nebula on how to best dry out the wet spot in the rug; the damp blanket’s on his lap, flower water soaking into his pants. Peter and Vision sit, each assuming the other is lost in his own thoughts. Which is true.

Peter can’t figure out why Michelle came. If it was to help Wanda, she didn’t do anything to encourage conversation between her friend and Vision. If it was to see Peter, then, yeah, technically she _saw_ him, but she barely spoke to him. Though neither possible motive seems that strong, he’s having a hard time thinking of a third. She definitely didn’t come over just to hang out with his family. So why was she here? Michelle’s face as she was leaving didn’t give him any clues. But she _did_ hold his gaze. She obviously isn’t uncomfortable being near him, and yet if she cares either more or less about him than he cares about her, she wouldn’t have been so quiet! Right? She would’ve said _something_. She left Peter with nothing to parse but her silence.

Resting his cheek on his fist, he turns to glance at Vision. His brother’s already looking at him like he’s been patiently awaiting his attention. He gives Peter a small smile.

“I confess, I’m glad that’s over. My only worry was due to uncertainty over how Miss Maximoff and I would interact. Now, I see that we can meet as acquaintances and will know what to expect from now on. I simply required an updated model for our behaviour to each other, a kind of baseline or template―”

“Oh, bullshit,” Peter says loudly. “You don’t need some impersonal model, you need to trust how you feel about her. And honest to god, Vision, call her _Wanda_. That’s her name and I know you want to use it.”

“You’ll see,” his brother argues. “If Miss Maximoff joins us for dinner one night―”

“ _When_ , not if, man.”

“―she and I will be civil and nothing more. You will be able to redirect your overactive imagination to other fancies.”

“Civil,” Peter repeats with a snort. “Vision, you’re getting funnier.”

“I assure you,” Vision says earnestly, “that was not a joke.”

“Buddy, the only thing that wasn’t a joke was the way Wanda was staring at you. She’s still got it bad for you.”

“What does she have?”

Peter grins and gives his brother a friendly slap on the shoulder.

“I think you can guess.”

* * *

It seems like it might be irresponsible―with all the stuff going on with LATE and SI―to push for the dinner just to force Vision to sit across from Wanda in the hopes of separating him from his own denial, so Peter doesn’t say anything to his mom about calling their on-again-off-again neighbour to pick a day. Nope, Pepper makes the call without encouragement. He doesn’t think it’s for the purpose of matchmaking. His mom probably just needs a break from how hard she’s been working to untangle the _new_ Stark Industries from the _old_ Stark Industries. (As much as it’ll hurt his dad, Peter thinks they should really consider renaming the company that they’re going to carry forward.)

He figures finding a day and time when everyone’ll be available will be difficult, with his parents’ workload and, presumably, Wanda’s, since she’s back for a highly in-demand few weeks at her restaurant, but it’s only a few days after the first awkward meeting in the living room that Wanda and Michelle are expected for dinner. Though it’s technically Pepper’s doing, Tony’s taking credit like he’s to thank for everything. At least he’s happy. It makes his smugness less insufferable. His one issue with the gathering is that his wife invited the Leedses. Oh, he likes Ned’s parents, it’s just that he’s hellbent on dinner being about Wanda―Wanda and Vision, Wanda and whatever he’s going to rename SI… Tony wants to be able to focus on Wanda in the brief time she’s promised to be around for and he’s not convinced that splitting that time between Wanda and a couple he’s friends with, who might be looking for more social opportunities because their son moved out and they miss him, is the pragmatic thing to do. This is not a child’s party and he is not the birthday girl; he shouldn’t have to be diplomatic about giving each of his friends the same amount of attention and the same size slice of cake.

Pepper threatens to have FRIDAY lock him in their bedroom the night of the dinner unless he promises not to fixate on talking business with Wanda. Tony replies that he heartily welcomes the threat if she’ll be locked in with him. She tells him he’s missing the point. He assures her it’s intentional.

Their four guests gather: Wanda, Michelle, and Ned’s parents. Peter’s finally able to extinguish the fear in the back of his mind that somehow Brad would be here after all to badmouth him in front of Michelle, get between his sister and Vision, and generally screw everything up. He sighs at there being no Brads in sight before he begins to grow tense again. Michelle’s wearing a dress that’s such a deep yellow it’s almost gold and Peter’s basically aching to stand next to her, the woman who looks like a human sunflower in late-afternoon light. _But_ he decided the last time she was here that he was going to concentrate on Vision and Wanda. That’s the right thing to do, especially since he’s not sure that Michelle’s even interested in him. Though, obviously, he picked a pair of slate-grey dress pants with tailoring that will hopefully draw her attention to what many, many squats have done for his thighs and butt, and he left his crisp white shirt undone an extra button, so if she looks, she looks. That’s on her.

Tony distributes drinks before supper and Nebula presents Morgan with a startling range of non-alcoholic options of her own creation (she’s branching from smoothies into mocktails). Peter’s face refuses to fade from pink, not because of what he’s drinking but because, leaning against the kitchen counter with his ankles crossed, he keeps stealing glances at Michelle. He wants to find a not-obvious way to sit beside her at dinner. When everyone makes the move into the dining room―the more accommodating option when they have guests and they’re all eating at one table―Peter almost trips thanks to his stupid crossed ankles. Spidey reflexes save him, but now he’s redder than ever. If Michelle ever does return his pining looks, she’ll probably think he’s drunk.

 _Act normal_ , he thinks. _Focus on Vision and Wanda_.

Miraculously, his dad’s remembering to do that too, so although Peter’s slight mishap makes him one of the last out of the kitchen, he enters the dining room to find Tony insisting on a seating arrangement that puts Wanda next to the son who makes almost as awkward a human as Peter does. Peter’s so high-strung tonight that he nearly laughs when an anxious Vision phases his hand right through the chair he’s attempting to draw back for Wanda, making him stumble over an apology and try again. She smiles brightly at him, holding his eye as her fingers twitch with apparent nerves as she takes her seat and allows him to help her pull it close to the table. Peter realizes she probably didn’t even notice his brother’s little blunder. Vision returns Wanda’s smile as he takes his place on her right. As if Peter’s going to believe for a _second_ that those two aren’t as crazy in love as a Beyoncé song.

Peter sits across from his brother to observe and, of course, to be able to jump in and keep the conversation going if he hears Vision stutter to a stop. Although he catches Michelle’s eye as they both look away from the tentative couple comprised of his brother and her best friend, she ends up at the other end of the table, by his mom. His shoulders droop a little. He’s tells himself it’s fine and goes back to watching Vision and Wanda while Nebula, next to him, criticizes dinner. At least she does it under her breath. She’s just annoyed that their parents didn’t leave all it up to her like she wanted them to. He thinks she would’ve helped her own case if she hadn’t been flipping a chef’s knife end over end in her hand when she made that request. Luckily, Wanda and Vision are so stupidly cute together that Nebula’s complaints become background noise and every other sound swells up beneath the soft murmuring passing between the pair across from Peter. He’s grateful for his dad’s voice being a little too loud, for the way Morgan keeps clinking her silverware together, for the Leedses laughing through an anecdote of their attempt to drive in New York City while visiting Ned―all of it makes Vision and Wanda turn frequently towards each other, faces close to be heard. Peter beams when his brother seems to say something funny that sets her laughing, watching him as he watches her toss back her head of thick red hair, blatant adoration in his expression. As long as nobody interferes, their romantic future is pretty obviously safe in their own hands.

Whenever he looks away from them, he begins to lose the vicarious buzz from their happiness. He glances down the table and sees Michelle exchanging intermittent words with his mom. The only people he’s seen her be totally comfortable talking to in the past are Wanda and, occasionally but apparently not always, himself. She might be as unhappy as he is right now. Or maybe she’s happier than she looks because Wanda’s happy and she’s just better at containing her glee than Peter is. He’s sure his mom’s being polite and stuff, but she’d be so much warmer towards Michelle if she knew that she was responsible for finding Harley and somehow influencing Liz into making a deal that protects both him and the company. Peter considers just throwing his chair back, going over to Michelle, and swearing to her that he knows what she did and that he thinks about it every day, that it’s just his latest excuse to think about _her_ every day. He turns his head back to his food and pokes his fork around his plate.

Tony manages to get more than a few words in edgewise to Wanda over dinner, even as most of her attention is focused on Vision. Time to sell himself. He’s still angling to become a part-owner of her restaurant and he’s savvy enough to guess what she’d be interested in hearing about, so he’s talking up Nebula and her culinary... eccentricities. Nebula’s sitting close enough to overhear and, presumably, doesn’t mind her adventures in cooking being discussed. If she wanted Tony to keep quiet, she’d tell him―which just shows how far they’ve come, since Nebula six years ago would’ve chosen actions over words and probably held a blade to the throat of the man she’s since accepted as her adoptive father. Wanda’s so interested in Nebula’s innovations that Tony, ever the showman, offers to give her a tour of his daughter’s lab. He waits for Nebula’s nod. Once everyone has a slice of pie (locally made and sold from a crop of early rhubarb) topped with a scoop of ice cream (homemade by Nebula―flavour secrets closely guarded, but smooth and delicious), he leads the entire dinner party to the lab floor. They seem happy enough to carry their plates. Good. A little surprise unveiling is kind of a classic family stunt he inherited from his father and he’s glad this group is game. He and Nebula consult for a moment on the way, but when she makes to slip to the back of the group, Tony encourages her to stay up front with him so she can speak for herself when they get there. She exorcises her uncertainty at being the center of attention by telling him the exoskeleton he’s using makes him look like a Transformer (which she recently learned about from Morgan), but Tony takes it as a compliment and laughs as Nebula scowls. He’s even more pleased by his daughter continuing to walk beside him than by Vision and Wanda pairing up right behind them. It feels more than circumstantial.

Peter doesn’t like eating and walking at the same time. Whenever he gets too distracted watching Michelle ahead of him, his fork starts to scrape across his plate and he has to level the thing before his entire dessert can end up on the floor. He takes bites now and then and the sweet, tart rhubarb pairs way too well with the bittersweet feeling of pining for her. He’d like for them to talk so he knows where he stands. Imagining, of course, that when they speak he’ll be able to produce the question for her to answer. He might just become an inarticulate mess instead, a living version of the ice cream melting all over his pie. Peter scoops some of that up with the side of his fork and licks it off. Naturally, that’s the moment Michelle glances back at him. Her gaze goes from his eyes to his mouth and her face turns pink. It’s fortunate that he doesn’t jab the tines of his fork into his lip until she’s facing forward again.

The lab. They’ll talk in the lab for _sure_.

Everyone enters and Nebula―with an angry edge to her voice that only means she’s self-conscious―begins to show Wanda some of what she’s been working on, Tony supporting her with little jerks of his head and pointed glances when she should either explain more or stop while she’s ahead. Peter thinks Michelle’s finally coming over to him. He’d go to her first, but Morgan’s full from too much food, leaning against him and passing up her sticky plate so he can stack it under his and hang onto it for her. Ugh, no! Michelle veers off to stand with Wanda instead. He’s such an idiot, standing here with his thumb in a sticky puddle of ice cream, jealous of Michelle’s best friend for being near her, mad at _himself_ for being sticky and jealous. She doesn’t want him. It doesn’t matter how many excuses Peter makes for his behaviour or hers. Really, it’s insane that he ever thought they’d get together after he turned her down so hastily and yet so thoroughly. Anybody who suffered that kind of blow to their pride would think one rejection was plenty without making themselves vulnerable to a second.

He’s moping and Morgan’s seizing his moment of weakness to attempt to talk him into piggybacking her back to the kitchen when Michelle comes up to him. Startled, Peter shoves the plates into his little sister’s hands and tells her to take them to Mom; she stomps off, narrowly thwarted.

“So, you said your cousin went back to her base, right?” he blurts out before Michelle can walk away again. He’s going for _personal_ and _I listened when you were talking the other day_.

“Yep.”

“And Brad, uh, he’s not still staying at your cottage, is he?”

 _Too far, Peter_ , he thinks to himself. _You sound like a jealous weirdo_. Then he remembers that he _is_ a jealous weirdo. Anyway, he can’t unask the question.

“Brad? Hell no. I never even invited him, he just came with Wanda. I don’t know why. Well, I know _why_ ,” Michelle rambles, “but... that’s not... I don’t...”

She gives him a tight, awkward smile. He offers one of his own. His is also relieved, though he already knew nothing was going on between her and Brad, as much as Brad clearly wanted there to be. It’s the fact of her saying (or trying to say) as much that means something. She’s assuring him that she’s single. Wait. Isn’t that what she’s doing? Peter planned on asking her something outright to put everything in the open, but now he’s off-kilter, back in his own head. Neither of them gets another word out. Morgan returns to see what the status is on her piggyback request and it seems to spook Michelle, who goes back to Wanda.

Peter gives in to his sister and they trail sadly behind the rest of the party as everyone leaves the lab until Morgan bounces on his back, urging him to pick up the pace. He’s grateful that she doesn’t yell, ‘Giddy-up.’ While he walks more quickly to appease her, he hangs back enough to spy on Michelle. Oh, and Wanda, the woman he _meant_ to watch to see how she and Vision treated each other. She’s speaking rapturously to Nebula, apparently enamored by her self-taught gastronomy, but her head whips around when the back of Vision’s hand brushes hers. Peter can’t tell if his brother did it on purpose or by accident. Hoisting Morgan higher on his back, he smiles at Ned’s dad as he hustles around him to get closer to Wanda. She and Vision haven’t stopped looking at each other and their fingers are flexing and contracting like they’re psyching themselves up to hold hands. Peter can hardly breathe! Some of that’s because Morgan’s arms are encircling his neck a little too tightly.

He’s grinning when Michelle’s eyes find his again. It looks like she could be about to return his smile when she trips over nothing. Peter surges forward, touching Nebula’s shoulder to warn her that he’s close before stepping around her, feeling Morgan sit up straighter against his back out of intrigue as to what her brother might be doing, and just as he’s reaching out to grip Michelle’s hand or arm or waist to make sure she doesn’t fall, his _dad_ sidles up to him. Fuck! Peter groans. The one good thing is that Michelle catches herself with a hand planted quickly against the wall. Being around his family while trying to interact with Michelle is like standing in the midst of a fucking swarm of bees. (God, he loves them, but _god_.) Actually, Peter kind of wishes Harley were here so he had somebody to punch in the nuts. That would make him feel better.

Michelle, Wanda, and the Leedses all leave at once, a flurry of thanks and waving, eliminating the possibility of private goodbyes for Peter or Vision.

“How about that?” Tony asks, slinging an arm around Peter’s shoulders. He must be ready to remove the exoskeleton, but he’s smirking down at one son, then up at the other. “Off without a hitch. Your mom can pull together a pretty damn good dinner party. Even Michelle Jones, neighbourhood snob, seemed to enjoy dessert.”

“Oh,” Vision tries to interrupt. “You mustn’t―”

“And _Vision_ ,” he goes on. “Such a gentleman this evening. Pulling out Wanda’s chair for her. Why, I never. You know our dear Mrs. Leeds asked me whether you and Wanda are together.”

“Dad, are you drunk?” Peter asks, more annoyed than teasing.

They manage to shake him when Pepper walks in. Tony seems just as satisfied to tell his wife his impressions of the evening, though he does call back to his sons with a couple more remarks on how cute Vision and Wanda were and a question about when his son plans to seal the deal. He could mean a business deal between SI and the Park, or he could mean... Yeah. Neither Vision nor Peter asks for clarification.

“I won’t say it wasn’t a pleasant evening,” Vision offers when they’re alone.

“That’s a lot of negatives for you, man,” Peter says with playful suspicion.

“I only think―”

“Don’t say that. You _feel_ too.”

“Peter, silence. I only think,” Vision repeats, “that we formed an interesting group. It’s been some time since the Leedses were here.”

“I must have missed all the time you spent catching up with them.”

“I- I fully intended to,” his brother stammers while Peter grins. “There is no need for your sarcasm.”

“Ok, I’ll say it straight. You and Wanda were cozy all night and I gotta know when you’re gonna seal the deal.”

“ _Peter_.”

“I mean ask her out.”

“It is my hope that Miss Maximoff and I... Wanda,” he corrects when Peter gives him a look, “and I will become friends. Yes, I will allow that much. Speaking with her this evening was... enjoyable. I have gained a more complete understanding of her and can acknowledge that any affection she shows me now or did in the past is and was borne of nothing more than friendliness.”

“Come _on_ ,” Peter groans.

“She is very friendly!”

“Dude!”

Vision paces two steps away, then two steps back, looking at Peter with exasperation.

“Explain to me why it is that you wish for me to feel more for her, and she for me, than we do?” he demands.

“I’m not wishing for anything you aren’t wishing for yourself!” Peter pauses, wondering if that made sense. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“Peter.”

Vision doesn’t say any more than that. He turns his face to the window, looking out at the empty driveway. The fading light makes his reflection increasingly distinct in the glass. He phases back to his usual form and finds himself recalling the other reds of the evening―the earthy tone of cooked rhubarb and the soft, vital red of Wanda’s hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tragically, denial is contagious in the Stark household. Thoughts and prayers for Vision to snap out of it are appreciated. _Although_ , I have a feeling he might make a full recovery very, very soon.


	29. Glowing Red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "On opening the door, she perceived her sister and Bingley standing together over the hearth, as if engaged in earnest conversation: and had this led to no suspicion, the faces of both, as they hastily turned round and moved away from each other, would have told it all." - _Pride and Prejudice_ , ch. 55

When Wanda returns, she does it alone. No Leedses, no Michelle, no formal invitation to dinner. They aren’t even expecting her. Actually, it’s the morning after the dinner party and they aren’t expecting _anyone_. She’s there for maybe five minutes, talking to Peter and his dad, and jittery the whole time. She says something about how she didn’t really have time to step out, she has prep to do in the kitchen in advance of another evening cooking at the Park. Peter wonders why that wouldn’t be somebody else’s job, since she’s the owner and head chef, but Wanda doesn’t give him time to ask. Vision doesn’t even make it to the door before she’s gone. Tony calls after her, telling her to stop by again and she waves back. When Peter and his dad consult about it, they can’t determine whether or not the wave means she’s coming back.

She does though, the next afternoon. Again, Wanda doesn’t let them know she’s on her way over, and from the expression on her face, Peter guesses that these visits are pretty spontaneous, like she starts heading to the compound before she can talk herself out of it. The Starks just ate lunch and are scattering to their respective corners of the building at the moment of her arrival. Peter’s half-changed into gym clothes―because the weather’s nice and he thinks he’ll go for a run outside―when his dad’s frantic voice rings out in his room with FRIDAY’s assistance, asking him to go talk to Wanda. His dad’s occupied with tracking down Vision.

Tony finds him helping Morgan with her Social Studies homework, banging his wheel into his daughter’s doorframe in his haste.

“Move it, Vision! Wanda’s downstairs. Faster than that,” he says, motioning with one hand as Vision begins to carefully straighten Morgan’s books and push slowly back from her homework table.

“But we―” Vision begins.

“ _Now_ , Vision! Ocean food chains can wait!”

Morgan sticks her tongue out at her dad, laying her arms protectively across the diagram she’s been drawing; though the blues of the water don’t match up (she corralled Vision to help colour it in and couldn’t find two pencil crayons the same shade), she thinks the shark looks super good. Tony sticks his tongue out in return.

“Nice job on those manners, Morguna,” he taunts with a smirk.

“Perhaps you should ask Nebula and come back to us,” Vision suggests, still outwardly calm. On the inside, his thoughts are sparking and tumbling like a line of exploding dominos. Wanda! Here! Again!

“What the hell does Nebula care? Don’t say ‘hell,’” Tony pauses to instruct his daughter. He looks back to Vision. “Wanda’s here for _you_.”

When Vision comes down and greets Wanda in the entryway, appearing human and flustered (only the first thing’s simulated), Morgan joins him. So it’s the three of them plus Tony and Peter and it’s incredibly obvious to Peter that their dad is now trying to think of a way to get the extra people (himself, Peter, and Morgan) back _out_ of the room so that Vision and Wanda can be alone. He avoids his dad’s eyes. Vision might want him here for support!

“Quit it!” Morgan shouts. Evidently, Tony managed to make eye contact with her.

“What?” their dad asks.

“You’re looking at me funny.”

“I am not.”

Peter sighs at what a baby their dad’s being. Vision, somehow the most on top of the situation, proposes that they all sit down in the living room. As he’s guiding Wanda in, Tony catches the back of Peter’s shirt and Morgan’s elbow. If he wants to stick with his brother now, he’ll have to fight his dad off. That kinda thing’s awkward in front of company, so Peter gives in. Vision glances back with a look of panic on his face and Peter can only shrug.

“Morguna, what do you say we go finish that drawing?”

“You can help,” she allows, “as long as you don’t mess it up.”

Tony scoffs, exaggeratedly insulted. He tries to make Peter come with them, but Peter refuses, planting his feet and crossing his arms. He’ll wait for Vision right here.

Inside the living room, Wanda’s bubbly (though it’s edging towards hysterical) and inquisitive (though she seems too distracted to hear the answers to her questions). The only thing she doesn’t seem to be, as far as Vision can tell, is romantically interested in him. She’s just her regular self, if more anxious than usual. Regardless, she looks lovely in her navy sweater and he longs to tell her. He observes her instead and concludes that her anxiety is probably to do with the Park. Vision can imagine that it might be stressful to step back into her role as chef, especially with the pressures of such a publicized limited engagement and a full house every night. Impulsively, he grasps her hand as he speaks words of reassurance, but the touch only makes her laugh strangely. He draws back his hand, also feeling affected. They conclude the conversation with hasty, stilted sentences, Vision on very uncertain footing but yearning for her when she precedes him out of the room and straight out of the compound. The air’s warm; they’re on the cusp of May. He stands in the doorway a long minute, leaning out as he watches her walk back in the direction of the Park, before he notices his brother beside him.

Peter raises his eyebrows.

“Still just friends?”

He doesn’t tease his brother any more than that, saving Vision from having to try to lie about how he _obviously_ feels. It won’t take long for him and Wanda to confront those feelings, Peter believes. It _can’t_. Not that it matters, but the two of them definitely have his blessing and he assumes Michelle’s as well. Though she didn’t return to the compound with her friend, Peter doesn’t think Wanda would’ve marched over here (even if she floundered a little once she arrived) if Michelle was still speaking critically of Vision. He hasn’t really considered it before, but it strikes him as he thinks everything over that afternoon that Wanda’s approval might mean as much to Michelle as the reverse. They’re both orphans, both scant on blood relatives, and clearly have deep-seated trust in each other’s judgement. Maybe Michelle showed a little distrust by persuading Wanda away from Vision initially, but that was mostly a protective instinct. In other areas, it’s evident that she trusts Wanda a great deal. They function well as housemates; Michelle has a stake in Wanda’s restaurant; Wanda promoted Michelle’s art by hanging it all over the walls. Peter having a good relationship with Wanda should mean something to her best friend. He hopes it does, though it isn’t an angle he ever would’ve played for the sake of manipulation. Is it possible that Wanda ever says anything to Michelle about him, talking him up, urging her friend not to write him off? That’s a lot to wish for. What matters now is that he and Wanda are friends and that he’s prepared to help her relationship with Vision along whether or not she’s secretly doing the same for him and Michelle.

Before Peter can brainstorm how else he might create opportunities for Vision and Wanda to meet while she’s Upstate, Wanda proves she’s got it from here.

She comes again that night. It’s late, almost midnight, nearly 12 hours since she dropped by in the afternoon. Peter’s gaming with Ned online when she arrives and doesn’t hear her knock. By chance, Vision’s downstairs at the front of the house, the only other person up. (Tony’s sleeping better since seeing Harley and moving past the argument with Pepper over financing the new branch of SI.)

Vision lets Wanda in and leaves the door hanging open behind her. There’s a breeze, almost warm, but not quite, and he wonders if she’s just trying to escape the chill when she moves nearer. There’s something in her eyes, though, that speaks to him without words, louder than the hour and the rumpled clothing she must’ve been wearing beneath her chef’s whites all evening. Vision offers his hand and Wanda hovers hers over it. He studies her face, never having longed for her from so close before. When their palms press together, a vibrant red glow seeps from the edges and he gasps at the feeling of _her_.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” she asks, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“No,” Vision assures her. “No. I just feel y―”

Wanda’s lips are pressed suddenly to his. Though Vision could calculate the speed at which she moved, the angle her feet must be at from where she’s rocked up on her toes, explain these things, explain them all, he ignores everything that isn’t the most human of sensations―first her mouth and second, the slope of her back under his hand as he cradles her to him. He ignores the encroaching memories of diagnostics and analyses, banishes the stone in his head behind pale skin as he phases to appear human, like her. Wanda’s fingers brush through his blond hair as they kiss more deeply. He’s like her without the façade and she won’t even notice with her eyes closed as they are. Vision doesn’t know why he does it. Perhaps because she kissed him as he was, since he was too startled by her sudden arrival to shift out of his natural red form. Yes, she’s like him, the same energy flowing through their bodies and minds, but they are both more, and less, than these abilities. She has striped him right down to the heart. A tool he hardly knew how to use, it seems, before she gave him a reason to learn.

Upstairs, removing his headphones, Peter picks up a pair of voices. Is one Wanda? He goes skidding out of his room, rushing toward the front door to make sure his dad wasn’t the one to welcome her in. He stops when he can make out his brother’s voice and harnesses his old Spidey stealth to edge closer until he can see them, silhouetted in the dark entryway by the compound’s warm perimeter lights, wrapped up in each other’s arms. Beaming as his hands clench into triumphant fists, Peter creeps soundlessly back to his room.

* * *

Naturally, Peter corners Vision before breakfast the next morning. He figures it’s the look in his eyes (plus his expression and, well, the entirety of his eager body language) that tips his brother off. He clearly knows something and Vision’s too forthright and too happy to conceal his news. Peter feels his hug of congratulations warmly returned.

“I hope it isn’t callous to say this is the happiest I’ve ever been,” Vision says. “You and the rest of our family mean a great deal to me, of course…”

“Don’t worry, man,” Peter assures him. “This is different. I get it.”

“For all my knowledge, it’s so completely beyond my comprehension. This sensation… Loving Wanda is like nothing I have ever experienced.”

Peter can only listen as his usually thoughtful brother grows chatty with joy, sentences sliding into one another as he attempts to transfer all of his feelings to language, something communicable. The supportive words he manages to slip in between Vision’s profusions of admiration for Wanda and love itself visibly please his brother. As abruptly as he began, he stops.

“I need to confer with Pepper and Tony. I won’t keep them in suspense the way Harley did.”

“Wait, what are you talking about? We don’t need to have a family meeting just because you had your first kiss.”

Vision eyes him for a moment and Peter realizes that he blurted out proof that he spied on his brother and Wanda last night. Oops.

“It was more than that.”

“I really don’t need to hear―”

“I mean to say that we spoke for quite some time, here and as I accompanied Wanda back to the Park. She’s in favour of a partnership between the Park and Stark Industries, with myself as her point of contact, naturally, and, and furthermore…” Visions sighs to collect himself. “Wanda has invited me to live with her.”

Peter blinks.

“Live with her?”

“Yes,” his brother says, suddenly speaking quickly again. “Here, at the Park. She would remain, you see, rather than moving back to the city with her brother. Apparently, she enjoys being Upstate and has a real passion for her restaurant. Though the city has its multitude of attractions, Wanda tells me she feels happiest, most at home, here. With her on sight at the Park, business is thriving. She’s interested… well, we both are… in seeing whether the two of us might work as well.”

Vision concludes his explanation, smiles to himself, and goes off to find their parents before Peter can say another word. He snorts a baffled laugh in his brother’s wake. Being head over heels in love has never looked so human.

When Wanda comes knocking _after_ breakfast, Peter lets her in with pretend weariness, like she’s here so often that he barely has a chance to sit down between her visits. He ruins the act by breaking into a smile and pulling Wanda into a hug with an, “Ah, bring it in,” when she pats him fondly on the shoulder. It’s just been so rough for the two of them, Wanda and Vision, too much heartbreak and confusion for two people so kind and self-sacrificing. The best people don’t always get the sweetest endings, Peter knows. There’s so much bad out there that it can feel as though the universe itself is rending bonds and hearts. But bad doesn’t always win. If you’re lucky, you get to be around for the happy ending. As Peter steps back and takes in Wanda’s obvious elation, he’s not even bothered that the happy ending isn’t his. She and Vision deserve this.

“I’m looking for your brother,” she says with a wide smile. “Big surprise, I know.”

“He’s up in my mom’s office going over business stuff...”

Peter purposely trails off so Wanda can fill him in, and she does. She’s more thorough, more quietly thoughtful, than Vision was in his hasty explanation earlier. Despite the technical topic, her pure affection for his brother comes across prominently and soon they’re talking about that instead, her happiness, Vision’s best qualities, and although they’re far into the realm of feelings, it’s obvious to Peter that those haven’t blinded her. It’s evident that she understands Vision, maybe better than Peter does, in some fundamental way. That has to be what’s giving her the confidence to have him move in with her. Nothing about the way she talks makes him think her and Vision’s relationship is a spontaneous fling. Bizarrely, it comes across as though they’ve been together for years and have settled comfortably into each other.

Eventually, she does head upstairs to establish the broad strokes of what partnering with SI will look like. Though she frequently defers to Pepper’s expertise, the one item she makes sure to insist on is an arrangement with Nebula, which Nebula will have to help define the terms of. Wanda offers her time and resources in the hopes of an exchange of knowledge; she’s certain they both have things to teach the other about cooking. If Vision’s going to be representing SI at the Park in name, then Nebula’s involvement in the restaurant can be hands on. She’ll be following in Tony’s footsteps. He pioneered technology to help others after engineering equipment to save his own life; at the Park, Nebula can share culinary revelations that exist because she turned to cooking to heal. She finds it meditative, soothing her sometimes _literally_ sparking nerves, providing focus and a sense of accomplishment, as she continues to cope with Gamora’s death. Wanda makes it clear that this isn’t pity or nepotism under partial Stark ownership. Nebula is a genuine talent and Wanda is inspired by her work.

“This,” Pepper says, smiling at Vision and Wanda across her desk, “really sets me at ease. You two are a pretty perfect match in more ways than one. I’m not worried about any of this.” She laughs in relief and surprise as she gestures to the boilerplate contract they were looking over and her notes about Wanda’s specifications. “I think you’re both very conscientious, caring people. The only thing that might get you into trouble is the level of your combined optimism, so, Vision, feel free to visit home if you need a booster shot of Stark realism.”

“And the reverse offer is certainly open,” Vision jokes. After an assessing glance, he reaches out for Wanda’s hand. “Please come to us if you find your optimism in short supply.”

“Don’t listen to Mom,” Tony urges, crossing his arms where he’s leaning against the wall of her office, supported by his exoskeleton. “New businesses need all the optimism they can get. That’s as sure a thing as you two are. Took you long enough though.” He winks at Vision to show he’s teasing.

“I thought the timing was just right,” Wanda counters, directing heart-eyes at Vision.

“That’s because you two somehow didn’t see this from the beginning, like I did. I always knew we’d end up right here. Enhanced neighbours with energy signatures compatible with yours don’t come along every day.”

Despite behaving like a know-it-all (and being thoroughly teased by his wife for that), Tony’s sincerely grateful that this partnership’s finally happening. Not just for the company. That’s the big difference between this and Harley’s deal with Liz Allan. In that case, they were salvaging a situation for the sake of Stark Industries. In this one, the fact that their company, his company, his father’s company will endure matters less than seeing Vision happy. Now there’s just that name to change. He contemplates it with his gaze on Wanda and Vision, feels it prodding the back of his brain later as he toils in his workshop. It crosses his mind when he reviews homework with Morgan and discusses the Park with Nebula. He watches Peter as they eat dinner at Wanda’s restaurant (Tony swung a reservation for their family like he told Pepper he would) and waves his son’s inquisitive glance off when he catches Tony grinning to himself. He’s got it. They’ll evolve from Stark Industries to Stark and Sons and Daughters. If people find it a mouthful, they can get over it. It’s not like the world doesn’t already know his name. _This_ he’ll do for his family.

Of course, half the fun will be keeping it under his hat for a while. When Pepper gives him a look like Peter’s, Tony throws her a wink. He might be induced to share his new secret with her. Under very specific circumstances. Leaning close to his wife, he asks if she has plans later.

* * *

“You’re not hiding Wanda in one of the cupboards, are you?” Peter asks. Vision turns away from the stove with a frown of confusion. “Or, oh, inside the oven like you’re some kinda fairy tale witch?”

“Shall I interrupt or wait for you to begin making sense on your own?”

“It’s just that I never see you alone anymore,” Peter explains.

He hops up to sit on the wide island directly behind his brother, then, on instinct, summersaults backwards and presses up on his hands to do a handstand. He wonders how much force it would take to propel himself up to the ceiling, about ten feet above his barely wavering feet. Just like that, he does it, maybe a little too hard; Vision turns with a look of alarm to see Peter sinking into a crouch on the ceiling. Peter waves and Vision sighs. Exasperation is how they take the pressure off each other, though they don’t acknowledge it. Vision pretends he’s sick of the hijinks that demonstrate Peter’s return to his old self, getting back in touch with abilities he thought he was leaving behind forever when he ditched the Spidey suit, and Peter acts like Vision becoming inseparable from Wanda is something other than adorable and incredible and beyond anything any of them ever hoped Vision could do or be.

“I suppose I don’t seek out isolation as much as I used to,” his brother responds thoughtfully, putting his back to Peter to pour a measured liquid into the large pot he has simmering on the stovetop. “Even my silences are better spent with Wanda. We have... an unspoken understanding of each other, I believe. It’s quite peaceful.”

Peter’s wondering if Vision might be interested in some of that peace right now when his brother speaks again.

“Do you know,” Vision begins, and Peter can hear the laughing lilt of amused disbelief in his voice, “that Wanda had no idea that I was in Queens in the winter? I thought she must have, at the time, but when we spoke of it, she was very obviously surprised.”

“I figured she didn’t know. It didn’t make sense that she would stay away from you after you guys were so close at the open house before she left.”

“I can only suspect her brother was to blame.” He shakes his head and Peter doesn’t know if it’s at the thought of Brad ‘Asshole’ Maximoff or because he’s fumbled somehow in his amateur attempt to replicate one of Wanda’s recipes. “He was disingenuous at the best of times and merely tolerant of my presence where I formerly believed him in support of my relationship with Wanda. It’s entirely foolish for Brad to persist in his... his ill-informed belief that I have any views on his sister more insidious than falling utterly in love with her.” Vision spins, tense as his gaze meets Peter’s. “If my happiness is such an irritant to him, then he might at the very least open his eyes enough to notice that Wanda is equally happy and that further attempts to separate us would only make her decidedly less so and must therefore be entirely at cross-purposes with his own hopes for her future. And if Brad thinks for even a moment that he and I will ever be anything approaching friends again, that _dickhead_ has another thing coming.”

Peter cheers loudly at the end of Vision’s rant, startling his brother.

“YES! Dude, that was awesome! I’m so proud of you.”

“She loved me,” he says, hurt flickering across his scarlet features. “Wanda loved me when she moved back to Manhattan in December. For whatever reason, it was only _my_ feelings she was in doubt of.”

Peter’s heart clutches at the knowledge of Michelle’s role in convincing Wanda of Vision’s apathy.

“Worst mistake she ever made,” he says.

He doesn’t specify the ‘she,’ letting his brother assume it’s Wanda, and there’s forgiveness in his tone. Michelle (and Wanda, under her influence) only did wrong because they wanted to do right. It’s not an unfamiliar position to Peter. Because Vision fails to refute his statement, Peter guesses he still doesn’t know anything about Michelle’s intervention. It’s kind of Wanda to leave her best friend out of this, he thinks. She could very easily set Michelle and Vision against each other, but what would anyone gain by that? Peter can’t help thinking of himself, how telling Vision the full story would damage not only his relationship with Wanda but Peter’s chances with Michelle. It’s fucking hard enough to fall in love without the people you’re closest to misguidedly standing in the way.

Vision’s back is to Peter as he says, “This is what I want for you.”

“What? A dickhead for a brother-in-law? Not that you and Wanda are gonna get married or anything,” he adds when his brother glances back to give him a disapproving look. “But you totally are,” Peter mutters, shifting to sit cross-legged on the ceiling.

“What I want for you is this feeling. I want for you someone as thoroughly _good_ as Wanda. Someone with Pepper’s patience for your sarcasm.” They both laugh. “Someone you can confide in, like you do with May.” Vision turns the burner of the stove off and steps decisively away with a distant, amused expression that says he’s completely giving up on whatever that was supposed to be, leaving the cooking prowess to his girlfriend.

“She sounds great,” Peter jokes to cover the fact that he’s a little choked up by his brother’s words. He blames it on sitting upside down.

Vision looks up at him with earnest eyes.

“You will find someone bright, Peter. She’ll be kind and tough, and she’ll make you feel like the world is as worthwhile as you used to believe it was. I swear to you that you will. And you will deserve her.”

 _I found her, Viz_ , he wants to say, but he just nods as tears slide up into his eyebrows. Voice a little gruff, Peter plays the whole thing off.

“Maybe I’ll email Flash and ask if he has a sister.”

Vision laughs and so does Peter, wetter, rockier. Then he sniffles and flips down, dropping all the way to the floor and landing with quiet, practiced precision.

“Would you care to taste this?” Vision asks, motioning to his abandoned... stew? Soup? Thor knows what.

“There’s no way in hell, man.”

* * *

There’s such a difference, Peter knows, in the ways in which a person can show up unannounced. It might be an only-a-matter-of-time thing, like Thanos, or an unanticipated, two-pronged, Nerf-gun sneak attack by Harley and Morgan while Peter’s sleeping. Wanda’s version was surprising because they didn’t expect her to keep coming back, but at least they got a slight heads-up from the security cameras. The visitor who arrives next doesn’t provide them with the courtesy of advance notice; the feed is cut and looped so smoothly, so subtly, that even the protocols Tony has in place to catch that sort of thing (they’re still paranoid, six years after half the universe disappeared in a single Snap―go figure) aren’t triggered. Outside, it’s so still that the Starks have quit noticing. There’s a weird evening fog around the compound as spring negotiates its way from April into May. Peter’s so at ease this evening, watching a movie with his family, that he doesn’t feel the old Tingle until it’s too late to prepare. He sits bolt upright on the couch a second before an insistent fist pounds on their front door.

“Peter,” Tony says, afraid and not showing it, still Iron Man, “take Morgan and―”

“No, I’m not leaving.”

Before they can get into an argument about when and where it’s appropriate to be a hero, Vision looks out the window to determine what they’re about to go up against. He motions a calming hand towards Nebula, who’s whipped a long, jagged knife out of somewhere and pushed Morgan behind her.

“It’s Fury,” Vision informs them.

“Your old boss?” Nebula asks Tony, who deflates and looks annoyed instead of desperate and adrenaline-fueled.

“He was never my _boss_. I knew you weren’t listening when I told you the story about the original Avengers forming up.”

“It was incredibly boring,” Nebula says unapologetically. “I prefer the part where you nearly die guiding a missile into space.”

Tony rolls his eyes.

“No knives,” he instructs her. He looks to Pepper. “No suits.”

She’s already halted her summoning of the blue one he made for her and has continued to tinker with on and off since they wiped Upstate New York with Thanos’s big purple ass.

His jaw tenses and Peter sticks close to his dad’s chair as he wheels to the door and opens it to reveal the imposing man in the long black jacket Peter remembers from Tribeca. The expression on Fury’s face is almost amused for a minute as he looks down at Tony―who, in contrast, appears incensed at being looked down upon, since this kind of encounter is exactly why he uses the exoskeleton―but it quickly ices over. Fury and Tony are not the same kind of old friends that he and Carol are and Peter has zero expectation of watching the Director loosen up with the help of roses or karaoke anecdotes.

“Neat trick with the security alerts,” Tony says tightly.

“Trying to decrease my chances of being shot in the head.”

“And you thought I’d be less likely to do that if I saw your face first?”

Fury doesn’t respond to what feels to Peter like it’s supposed to be a rhetorical question. The two men stare each other down. Finally, he speaks.

“Tony, I’m alone. Most of the people who live here―hell, maybe all of ‘em―could kill me easily. Half of your inanimate shit probably has the directive to kill me as part of the programming. I’d say you’d be pretty safe letting me in.”

Tony sniffs, considering him. Peter remains tense, hand gripping the back of his dad’s armrest.

“Yeah, sure, welcome,” Tony says. Darting a glance at him, Peter moves back when his dad does to allow Fury entry. As the man passes inside, he finally catches Peter’s eye with his. The look is definitely not saying, _Nice to see you again!_

His dad nudges him ahead and Peter hustles back to the living room to find the movie shut off, though evidence of their family night―half-empty bowls of popcorn, the bean bag chair Morgan dragged down from her room―remains.

“Sorry I had to intrude,” Fury says, which really isn’t an apology. It’s not like his tone would’ve deceived them anyway. It’s level, cold. His gaze lands on Peter’s little sister. He nods at her. “You must be Morgan.”

“Don’t you _dare_ talk to―” Tony begins in a harsh warning, shifting in his chair to raise a threatening finger.

“We’re just going to bed,” Pepper cuts in.

The look on her face isn’t any friendlier, but she takes her daughter’s hand and leads her from the room. (Peter’s proud of Morgan for the backwards glance she throws Fury―all glare―before Vision follows them out, blocking their little sister from view.) Tony, Peter, and Nebula remain with Fury. Peter can sense that he’s the only thing standing between their opaque guest and a couple of violently loose cannons.

“So, this is the family home,” Fury says. “I expected to find something more like a business.”

Peter recalls Fury’s place in Tribeca. Definitely not homey.

“We manage,” Tony says. Peter can see that his dad’s temper’s evened out since he snapped at Fury about Morgan, but he’s definitely still on edge. His next move is posturing and he squares his shoulders for it. “We’ve actually locked down two new partnerships in the last couple weeks alone.”

“And here I thought you were slowing down after mothballing the suit. Quaint little spot to retire,” Fury observes wryly, gaze sliding up to take in the high ceilings, then over to where the windows offer a view of the far-stretching lawn. The compound is almost as opposite to later-in-life downsizing as the Palace of Versailles.

Peter watches his dad’s hands flinch into fists at the casual implication that he simply _retired_ from being Iron Man. Like it was a period of transition rather than an instant in which his back snapped. Like it was a choice instead of what felt necessary to protect the family he had left after the first Snap.

“It was time to leave Manhattan to a younger generation of assholes,” Tony comments snidely. He stares challengingly at Fury. “ _Mostly_ younger, anyway.”

“I would think that the flatter skyline would let you see what was coming,” Fury says back, matching sarcasm with sarcasm.

“Again, nice trick. Does that kind of thing impress your new associates? Must seem like a magic show to Flash Thompson. I know he’s quite a fan.”

“Flash is useful.”

Oh, maybe that’s who he’s here to talk about, Peter thinks. Flash probably had a tantrum when his last email went unanswered (the one Peter deleted) and complained to his idol. Fury doesn’t _seem_ like the kind of guy to go all guard-dog on whoever Flash sics him on, but he does represent a hell of a lot of money and public influence. Like Fury said, Flash is useful. Peter suspects Fury sees those around him as tools more frequently than as people.

Abruptly, he turns the gaze that’s astoundingly weighty for being one-eyed on Peter.

“Walk with me,” he says.

Peter feels both his father and Nebula bristle; that knife of hers might be out of sight, but there’s no way in hell it’s gone.

“Hey,” Tony says, though it doesn’t draw Fury’s eye away from Peter’s face, “how ‘bout telling us exactly what you’re doing here.”

“It’s between me and Peter.”

“Like hell it is. My son’s not going anywhere with you. If you want to see him that badly, you won’t be shy about putting a bag over his head and bundling him off to some secret location.”

“No secret location,” Fury promises. “There’s no need for us to leave the premises. You’ll find all of your security systems have been restored. You’re welcome to keep an eye on us if you don’t trust me.”

“You’re damn right I don’t trust you,” Tony assures him, but he’s waiting for Peter to speak for himself. Both men are.

Peter looks at them, at his sister, who has her shoulders angled forward like she’s ready to leap onto Fury’s back and twist his neck. Their eyes meet. There’s a burning in Nebula’s, a forcefulness that says she’ll defend him to the death. It reminds him that he’s one of them. Strong and skillful. An Avenger. Spider-Man.

“Peter,” Fury says again. “Walk with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our next chapter is the second last! I think you guys will find the conversation between Peter and Fury very satisfying.
> 
> Before we get any closer to the end, I want to thank everyone who's been reading and, especially, _commenting_ over the past eight and a half months. This fic has been the biggest and most satisfying project I've ever undertaken and your words of encouragement and appreciation along the way have made up a significant part of my motivation to sit down and write more, over and over, with so much joy. My work on this story has never felt tedious and I'm deeply thankful that you've shared my enthusiasm for the AU and the necessary tolerance to wait 170,000 words for these two idiots to get together. (I swear, they do.) Future comments from anyone who's waiting until this fic's posted in its entirety to begin reading will be amazing, but us? Right now? We've been on a journey together, pals, and I love you. Most ardently.


	30. Taking Control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "As soon as they entered the copse, Lady Catherine began in the following manner: ‘You can be at no loss, Miss Bennet, to understand the reason of my journey hither.’" - _Pride and Prejudice_ , ch. 56

“I’ll just see what he wants.”

Peter mumbles the words to his dad and sister, but keeps his gaze fixed on Fury’s. He grabs his sweatshirt off the back of the couch, where he tossed it earlier while his family was watching the movie, and shrugs it on quickly before leading their unexpected and so far unwelcome guest back the way he came in. He hesitates at the front door and glances at Fury. While it doesn’t set off any warnings for Peter, the man’s expression is deadly serious.

“After you,” Fury says, leaving Peter feeling like his words were stolen as he precedes their―no, _his_ ―visitor outside.

Evidently undeterred by the waning light and thick fog spilled over the grounds, Fury strides across the drive onto the lawn with a single flap of his coat. The whole thing is freaky and vampiric, in Peter’s opinion, and yet he follows, side-eyeing the darkly tinted windows of the black SUV parked out front. Is Maria Hill in there? At least he knows his dad’s inside watching him on a monitor. Peter isn’t alone and he’s definitely not defenceless against a physical attack. The problem is that he doubts that’s what this confrontation is going to be. Fury’s way too smart to try to take Peter on alone, even if he had a reason to. But hey, maybe he does. Peter doesn’t have a fucking clue why he came at all, so he’s not totally comfortable (far from it) despite his certainty that he could kick this guy’s ass hand-to-hand. The one thing he knows to do when he has no idea what to do is let the other person talk first; Peter keeps his mouth clamped shut as Fury allows him to fall into step at his side.

“Let’s not bullshit each other.”

“Huh?” is Peter’s intelligent response.

“Tony’s strength might be winging it once it’s too late to plan ahead―there’s a reason you were the Avengers rather than the Pre-vengers―but Pepper has good foresight. Splitting the difference, I figure you had to know I would be stopping by, even if you didn’t know when.”

“I did?”

“Maybe your father hasn’t told you enough about how I operate,” Fury suggests as Peter attempts to retract his frown of confusion into an underdeveloped poker face. “Delegating’s fine, but I still prefer to deal with certain matters in person and, trust me, I’ve had to travel much farther to handle a situation than Upstate.”

“Uh huh.”

Fury comes to a halt and fixes him with a look, by now likely understanding that Peter’s not playing coy, feigning innocence, like his dad would do. He genuinely doesn’t have a fucking clue what’s going on.

“You know why I’m here,” the man states, and yet, it _is_ a question.

“Not... exactly.” The look doesn’t waver. Peter swallows. “Or at all,” he admits, just so they can move past the part where Fury’s staring at him like he’s mentally dismantling his brain and reforming it into a hamburger patty.

“I hope you’re not fucking with me.” The tone is plenty threatening and makes Peter hope he’s not fucking with him either. “I would be extremely disappointed to find that you’re interested in wasting my time. I assure you, I won’t be wasting yours.”

Fury stares at him and Peter says nothing to stop him from continuing. The cool dampness of the fog makes him want to wipe the exposed back of his neck, but he keeps still.

“I heard a story about you,” the man says. His eye flashes. “I didn’t particularly like it.”

“Are there still Spider-Man rumours on the internet?” Peter asks weakly. “I’m almost flattered they’re still talking about me.”

Fury ignores his joke entirely.

“Not only is Vision partnering with Wanda Maximoff, who I’m still eager to recruit, but I hear that _you_ are also romantically connected to someone I have a singular interest in.” When Peter’s eyebrows pull together in confusion, Fury spells it out: “Carol’s niece, Michelle Jones.”

His eyebrows drift up and apart.

“Michelle?”

Her name’s enough to make his heart slam on the brakes, then start up again twice as fast.

“See, that’s the face I made when I heard.” (Peter seriously doubts that.) “Doesn’t seem likely, I know. Intelligent young woman like her pairing up with you, the ex-superhero, determined to go nowhere even when I hand you a shot at getting back in the game.”

Fury shakes his head disapprovingly.

“Just because I’m not going your way doesn’t mean I’m going nowhere,” Peter argues, finally finding a place in this discussion where he can dig his feet in. It’s the beginning of a stand. He can’t refute the rest though, the implication that Michelle’s worthy of more than he can give.

“You going somewhere? From what I can see, the only place you’ve gone is back to Mom and Dad. Easy, Stark,” Fury adds, glancing warily to the side like he knows that last comment earned him crosshairs on his forehead from a concealed weapon.

“Ok, well, if it’s so obvious that Michelle’s too good for me, then why are you here asking me about it?”

“I want you to tell me I heard wrong.”

“I’m pretty sure you have the resources to get to the bottom of it yourself,” Peter reasons, growing punchier and more sarcastic as Fury leans into the role of intimidator. “Where the hell’d you hear she and I were together anyway?”

“You seem confused,” Fury says. It’s the kind of thing enforcers say in old movies, Peter assesses, right before they start trying to aid their target’s memory with a few blows to the head. “Don’t try to tell me that rumour didn’t start right here.”

“That I’m dating Michelle Jones? Why would I start a rumour about that? If it were true, I wouldn’t sneak around.”

“Ah,” the man says quickly, as though he’s caught Peter somehow. “You would if you considered that I’d hear about it. If you were trying to keep the relationship secret.”

“Now I’m in a secret relationship? Pretty fucking secret. Even _I_ didn’t know about it.”

The intensity of Fury’s expression eases. Must’ve heard something he liked.

“So the rumour’s groundless,” he asserts. He’s always doing that and it bugs the heck outta Peter. What is this guy, allergic to questions? Everything’s such a fucking game.

“Well, I haven’t ordered a whole secret team to investigate it ‘til the trail goes cold,” Peter jokes, “so I don’t know if my final answer counts for as much as yours.”

“Don’t fuck around with me,” Fury warns, abruptly irate, pitch rising threateningly as he looms over him. Peter crosses his arm and holds his position. “Are you or are you not conducting a relationship with my niece?”

“She’s not your niece, man,” he counters in a hard voice. He does _not_ like where this is going at all. “And no matter how close you think the two of you are, I guarantee it’s not close enough that Michelle’s ok with you trying to gatekeep her relationships.”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“Michelle _is_ the subject, but I’m happy to stop talking about her whenever you want. I don’t think it’s right to do that behind her back. She’s not an object for you to control, she’s an adult.”

“I’m _aware_ ,” Fury says, clearly annoyed.

“Oh, so you’re being deliberately anti-feminist.”

“I’m not controlling Michelle, I’m protecting her. I don’t want her connected to you. It’s not safe for her. Half in the world of what I do and half out. You’re too well-known to fly under the radar, but not equipped to shield her from the dangers of being tied to you. You have no _idea_ the kind of intergalactic bullshit Carol faces out there, what we _all_ face, since Thanos.” All of a sudden, he seems to recognize that he’s ranting and braces his fists on his hips, glowering at Peter. “Answer me, goddammit! Are you in a romantic relationship with Michelle Jones or are you not?”

“According to you, she’d never take me,” Peter says with a laugh. He doesn’t know how he manages it.

“I know she wouldn’t! Still, the two of you lived in some proximity when she was up here with Wanda. As you pointed out, Michelle’s an adult and I’m sure there isn’t a large selection of people her age in the neighbourhood. When I acknowledge that she may have picked you, I believe it would have been the consequence of a lack of choice. And, I suppose, there’s the novelty of you being a former Avenger. That could be sufficient to induce her into getting involved with you, while your family’s fame might be enough to make her agree to keep the whole thing quiet.”

“So you think I’m a dick.”

Fury jerks his head back like Peter tapped him one on the chin.

“Do you have any idea who you’re dealing with? What I’ve done for this country and this planet? I’ve devoted my life to protecting it. I might not care about every asshole, but there are a few lives I have a personal stake in and Michelle Jones’s is one of them.”

“Mine’s not.” Peter shakes his head to emphasize this. “And I’m glad. I wouldn’t want you feeling any more entitled to what I know and who I am than you obviously already do.”

“It’s not smart for you to not be direct with me. You have more to lose than that attitude tells me you think you do.”

“Not Michelle though, right? You’ve made it super clear that she’s not mine to have, so she must not be mine to lose either. You’d have to contradict yourself to think otherwise, wouldn’t you?” Peter goads.

For the first time, Fury looks away across the hazy stretch of property.

“Do you know,” he asks, “what happened to Michelle’s parents?”

“Yes.”

Though he wasn’t there, never saw anything like it since he was rematerializing at the same time as the rest of the half-universe at the moment of the Second Snap, Peter finds it so brutally easy to picture the people who made Michelle returning to existence in midair, the plane they’d been travelling on vanished from around them, plummeted five years before. Leaving them to a long fall and the knowledge that only death waited at the bottom.

“And do you think,” Fury continues, “that if the Joneses knew how Michelle carries the pain of that day, that _Event_ , that they would want her to be with someone who can only ever worsen that pain by reminding her of it? Someone who was involved?” he presses.

Peter tenses.

“Don’t.”

“Someone whose job it was to help prevent that tragedy, but who could only ever try to _avenge_ it after the fact?”

“You sonofabitch,” Peter mutters, fast and hot as his eyes burn.

“Hey, I’m just stating fact. You think it’s unreasonable to assume Michelle’s parents would want better for her?”

“I think it’s sick for you to put your agenda on them,” he counters, throat tight. “You’re so obsessed with me knowing who you are. Well, who the hell are you to decide what a dead couple would want for their daughter? That’s Michelle’s question to answer, if she wants. It’s definitely not yours. Maybe you’ve kept an eye on her, helped her out when you could, been buddies with her aunt and counted it as indirect guardianship. Pat yourself on the back for whatever you think you’ve done and let Michelle take it from here. Let her be. And if I’m the person she wants,” Peter says, throwing his arms wide, bearing himself to the universe, “let her be with _me_.”

“Cute. But nowhere near good enough.”

“It might be, to her.”

“You should understand that I don’t go anywhere unless I intend to get results,” Fury states.

Something more powerful than rage and more certain than his visitor’s entitlement flares up in Peter. He’s not gonna let this guy push him around, doesn’t care what or who he was the director of. Peter has his home at his back and his blood’s coursing through a body that’s still made up of some of the cells he reformed as when the Second Snap brought him back. He is no one’s inferior.

“And I don’t let people push me around in my own neighbourhood.”

“I’ll do what I have to do to get the truth. Tell me what you and Michelle are to each other.”

It’s an order, no hint of a question, even in the subtext. Peter snorts, not intending to answer. But then something down deep in him urges him to speak. An entrenched imperative to tell the truth because it’s what he owes to himself.

“Nothing,” he says.

“All this dicking around for _that_.” Fury’s disappointment is as mocking as his stern voice seems able to allow. “The only further effort I require from you is something you should find easy to provide: tell me you’ll never pursue a relationship with my niece, and make me believe it.”

Still bent on being truthful, Peter sizes up this man with the enigmatic eye patch, the Victor Frankenstein coat, who somehow thinks he’s _won_ , thinks he’s taken something from Peter. He looks him square in the eye and tells him, “Get fucked.”

“Ex _cuse_ me?”

“I didn’t put you in charge of my powers and I’m not putting you in charge of my happiness. Anything that happens between me and Michelle is between me and Michelle. You wanna hear something I learned about business? Involving a third party fucks everything up. A middleman’s supposed to promote the interests of the other two players, and that never happens. Instead you get family companies tricked out of majority ownership and ‘concerned uncles,’” he says with expressive air quotes, “disenfranchising the nieces they claim they’re protecting. You can’t make Michelle safe just by stopping her from being with me. You can’t deny her things and expect that kinda treatment to make her happy. The only thing you’ve convinced me of is that you’re a jerk. You thought you could intimidate me? You don’t know me, you don’t know Michelle, and maybe I don’t know her either, not completely, but I know the only thing you did by showing up on my doorstep was let her down.”

“Maybe your family used to be worthy of somebody like her, but you’re not now,” Fury says scornfully, beginning to storm away towards the compound, where his SUV is parked.

“Well,” Peter says, finding it’s easy to match his guest’s pace, that his legs are strong and his shoes capable of finding a grip on the ground that the wet grass shouldn’t allow, “it looks like Michelle’s family isn’t perfect either.”

“Don’t think for a minute that you could offer her a better one. There’s still a fight out there and you’ve retreated.”

“I’m not offering her anything, because she isn’t asking me for anything. The only person I can stand here and promise not to give anything up to is you,” he concludes in a huff as they reach the dark vehicle and Fury wrenches open the driver’s side door.

“You’d only put her in danger,” he growls, one foot planted in the SUV.

“Not her independence,” Peter shoots back. “Not her opportunity to speak for herself, about herself. And if Michelle ever wants to test that, I’d be _honoured_.”

It’s more than he means to say, but when it’s enough to finally make Fury heave himself angrily into the vehicle and slam the door, Peter’s relieved. His guest wheels out in an arc sufficiently wide to avoid hitting Peter as he walks to the compound’s front door, and to demonstrate that he has a strong sense of self-preservation; if Fury so much as clipped Peter’s arm with one of his mirrors, the Starks would’ve had something to say about it. And should he happen to glance in his rearview mirror, the director will spot Peter bidding him goodbye with a middle finger held high. What’s invisible is the way it makes Peter feel like he’s channeling Michelle Jones.

“You gonna tell me what that was about?” his dad asks the second he’s through the front door.

Peter smirks to himself, oddly triumphant. It’s been years since he put everything on the line like that. Last time, he didn’t get to walk away from it. He feels pretty damn invincible for a boy who was once Snapped into a billion little pieces.

“I know you recorded the whole thing. Guess you’ll have to listen to the audio.”

* * *

The surge of self-assurance fades. It happens while his family’s finishing the movie they started before Fury showed up. (Morgan protested being sent to bed, so everybody reconvened in the living room.) By the time the credits roll, Peter’s anxious and no longer enjoying himself, though Pepper forbad Morgan from asking him about what happened with ‘Dad’s boss’ (Tony’s mad at Nebula for starting _that_ ), so nobody else has questioned him directly. Peter can sense their curiosity though and volunteers to clean up the drinks and snacks, just for an excuse to be alone in the kitchen.

After inquiring about Peter for years, keen to see if Spider-Man would ask ‘how high’ when ordered to jump, Fury finally cornered him in person. But it was about a secret relationship rather than a secret mission. The man actually drove that far to interfere in Michelle’s love life. Recognizing that, it sounds pretty stupid to Peter, and yet it was a solemn encounter. Fury clearly believed whatever he’d heard and thought he was setting out to do damage control on a situation already out of hand. It’s crazy! Man, Harley thought it was bad when his family intervened to make sure he didn’t sink the company. Imagine if he had Fury for an uncle instead of Happy, Peter thinks. Where would Fury get an idea like that, that Peter and Michelle were sneaking around together? So few people even know they like each other! Ok, there’s Peter’s aunt and uncle, but they aren’t gossipy. There’s Monica, who Peter’s sure is too mature, not to mention too _busy_ , to spread rumours about her cousin. Of course, he remembers that Wanda was there too, in Vermont, when he and Michelle were really starting to get each other― _he_ thought―and Wanda has since gotten together with Peter’s brother. That’s the kind of thing that probably shows up on a guy like Fury’s radar. An Avenger and an enhanced woman who Fury admitted to keeping tabs on. Maybe the facts that Peter is Vision’s brother and Michelle is Wanda’s best friend were enough to put the idea in Fury’s head, or the head of someone close to him (like Flash, because if he heard anything, he’d blow it out of proportion). Fury’s a naturally suspicious man, Peter can tell. Could be that he just got carried away and the next thing Peter knows, he’s having it out with this guy on the front lawn, being all vague and shady on purpose to defend even the idea of a relationship between him and Michelle. Being a hopeless idiot, because what’s incredibly obvious is that Fury going all ‘you shall not pass’ has gotta be the final confirmation that he and Michelle are not going to happen. The last nail in the coffin; R.I.P. the relationship that never fucking was.

It’s silly, but Peter did think, a little bit, that Vision moving in with Wanda would give him an excuse to see Michelle again. He’d do something too obvious, swinging by when he knew she was staying at the Park and pretending he hadn’t known. From the first time she’d meet his eyes, Peter would be a wreck and everybody would be able to see it, his heart pumping blood on his sleeve. He pictured the autumn and Michelle getting sick, coming to the Park to convalesce―where he’d take her homemade soup and say it was from Nebula. He fantasized about a monstrous winter snowstorm while Michelle spent Christmas with Wanda, Peter being neighbourly about helping dig out their driveway, how she’d squint over the glare of the snow and smile at him when he shoveled up to the front door. But they were ridiculous thoughts. Like... like some kid thinking he could grow up to be Spider-Man.

As he dumps unpopped popcorn kernels and swishes the bottom of glasses under the faucet, Peter wonders what happens if Fury decides their debate isn’t over. Peter didn’t exactly bow down to his authority. Anyway, the resolution to keep Michelle away from anybody who isn’t either harmless or fully under Fury’s surveillance didn’t seem recent. It stands independent of Peter wanting or needing or existing. Peter doubts Michelle knows what Fury’s doing behind her back, but he bets that she’d stop him. This feels too insane to tip her off about though. The whole thing has become so specific to him, with Fury demanding compliance and laying down some very personal judgements about the worthiness of Peter and his family. What he’s doing is actually making Peter _more_ involved.

Maybe Fury will surprise him and confront Michelle himself. He might weigh her feelings of betrayal against his need to firmly shove Peter out of the picture and figure it’s worth risking. Peter’s sure the man’s entitled manner won’t win him points, but he has so much other shit to leverage. Really, what more would it take to convince Michelle that Peter’s not the one for her than reminding her of his family’s role in the death of her parents? That’s already a fraught subject. He knows that from what she told him firsthand. Fury has to use the argument that targets her where she’s most vulnerable. Peter really doesn’t think he’s above that kind of shit. Probably wouldn’t even realize he behaves the same way towards his friends as he does to his enemies, keeping track of their weaknesses to influence them towards the result _he_ deems best.

If Fury goes to Michelle, he’ll either convince her or drive her away from both himself and Peter. Either way, there won’t be soup in the fall or their footprints side by side in the snow. Michelle will avoid the Park and Peter will really, finally not see her face anymore. Which is when Peter will really, finally have to get over her.

Senses sharp (and continuing to sharpen as he forces himself to concentrate on something that isn’t the likely near-future imperative to get over Michelle Jones), it’s easy to overhear what his family’s saying in the living room. Now that Peter’s out of the room, they’re talking about Fury, which makes sense. He knows the distance between the man and his dad is something Tony’s cultivated. Nobody expected such an abrupt interruption.

Peter hangs out in the kitchen, listening to Vision say his goodnights, then Morgan consenting to finally go to bed. Their dad’s the one who’s taking her, but she doesn’t give in until Nebula agrees to come up and keep her company until she falls asleep. It’s easy to wheedle that kind of thing out of Nebula, for Morgan. If Morgan’s wrapping up fifth grade, then Nebula’s still somewhere near the beginning in her continuing studies on how to be a sister. So far, so good. When he can tell it’s only his mom left downstairs and figures she’s probably waiting for him, Peter sighs and emerges from the kitchen.

“I checked my email after I took Morgan upstairs earlier,” Pepper begins, twisting on the couch to watch Peter enter the room. She has the TV on, muted.

“And, what, it was only the twenty-sixth time you checked today?” Peter jokes. He grabs the back of the couch and bounds over it to bounce into place next to his mom. He kicks his feet up onto the coffee table.

“You sound like Harley.”

“Ugh, really?” he groans. But his mom’s voice is fond.

“I talked to him over the phone this afternoon. He thinks I shouldn’t work so much.” Pepper turns her head to give Peter a soft _you know me_ smile.

“Lately, that’s his fault.”

His mom shifts on the couch, looking thoughtful.

“I think it’s his way of feeling guilty for that, telling me to slow down.”

“Slow down,” Peter snorts. “What’re you gonna do if you slow down? Retire?”

“Well.”

He frowns and studies his mom’s expression. She’s never been as careful with it as his dad is. Peter’s not sure if she’s better at vulnerability or just has less to conceal.

“Do you want that?” he asks her.

“Kind of. I like being busy, especially when your dad gets fixated on something and starts stressing me out.” She smiles. “But what I really want is for you guys to be happy.”

Peter knows she means him and his siblings.

“We’re doing good right now,” he says, reflecting.

“That’s what makes retiring actually seem possible. I won’t have anything to worry about.”

“You won’t worry about us?”

“Hey,” his mom says, tapping him under the chin with a finger. “I’ll always worry about you. You know what I meant. Aha, which brings me to the email.”

“Right. The email. It wasn’t from, uh, Fury, was it? Like, warning us he was coming?”

“Don’t be silly. If Fury warned us he was coming, it would take all the drama out of his arrival, and I think that’s what he likes.”

“Seems like it,” Peter agrees, resting his cheek against the back of the couch. “Who was it from then?”

Pepper gives him a look that might be a warning for what’s to come.

“Flash Thompson.”

“What the hel- _heck_ does that guy want?”

“He wants to talk about you, apparently.”

“Me?”

Peter’s face feels like it’s going numb. Is Fury trying to get him away from Michelle by having Flash offer him another job in NYC? Did the two of them put their heads together and come up with a certain number of Flash’s videos that Peter will have to ‘voluntarily’ feature in before Fury decides Peter no longer owes him anything? Peter’s mistake is thinking that Flash would be given instructions without a reason for them. Of course not. Because why _wouldn’t_ Fury let Flash run wild believing that stupid rumour about a secret relationship? Stupid rumours about superheroes are Flash’s bread and butter.

“Are you alright? All the colour just rushed right out of your face.”

“Fine,” Peter says. He nods. “What’d Flash say?”

“Well, I’ll spare you the abundance of hashtags and get right to the meat of it. There were lines about you being well-connected and how he shouldn’t have been surprised that Spider-Man has friends in high places. Then, he essentially drooled over this new closeness he’s expecting you to have with Fury. ‘Practically family,’ I think Flash wrote.” His mom gives him a probing look; Peter’s sitting stiffly. “After that, he turned right around and warned you against it. Said he could understand the draw but that Fury doesn’t exactly approve. Does any of that mean anything to you?”

“Maybe,” he mumbles.

“I don’t know why Flash thought _I_ knew what he was talking about, but he did eventually spell it out: that you’ve been hooking up with Fury’s... niece? Did Flash call her his niece?... behind Fury’s back. Michelle! Can you believe that?”

Peter jumps when Pepper’s hand lands on her leg with a smack.

“Where in the world would he have gotten that idea?” she asks, clearly meaning the question to be rhetorical. “I just... For me, this is coming out of nowhere. Right? How did he come up with putting the two of you together? All you and Michelle ever did was butt heads when you talked, and she seemed more interested in talking _about_ you than to you. ‘Daddy’s money.’ Remember that?”

“Uh huh.”

“Isn’t this bizarre? Maybe I _should_ retire and hand management over to Flash, let him run Stark Industries now that we’ve split off with these new ventures, since he obviously has too much time on his hands.” Pepper laughs to herself. “So strange.”

“So, that’s... that’s the main thing he emailed about? Me and Michelle?”

His mom shrugs and rolls her eyes.

“There was some other stuff. Naturally, he’s nosy about the partnership with LATE and scared that the hastiness of that deal will somehow reflect badly on him, the de facto head of SI. Flash had _plenty_ of advice to offer me on how to handle things.”

Peter shakes his head at the audacity of somebody trying to tell his mom how to run the company. Flash is in for a rude awakening when the Starks step back from Stark Industries.

“Idiot,” he offers, no real judgement in his voice.

“I don’t know how someone whose job is ostensibly to observe the world around him could think he was passing on accurate information. And why gossip to me about it?”

“Maybe Flash thinks you’re in charge of me. That I needed your permission, or something. He probably thinks you can put a stop to this sneaking around thing by, you know, forbidding it.”

His mom makes an unimpressed humming noise.

“He paints an interesting picture of me,” she says dryly. “The controlling mother to a son carrying on a secret romance with a young woman he doesn’t even like, and who only saw him as some kind of Richie Rich caricature. Maybe Fury’ll tell Flash he was here. That should provide lots of fuel for that imagination of his. He’ll probably think Fury beat me to it with forbidding your relationship.” Abruptly, she laughs. “Well, Flash’s emails keep me entertained.”

His mom’s ready to get some sleep. Peter walks upstairs with her, says goodnight, and goes to his room, but he isn’t tired. He lies on top of the blankets, fully clothed, and listens to himself breathe while he stares at the ceiling. Three hours go by like that, with him paralyzed by his thoughts. At first, he just marvels at how close to the mark his mom manages to be when she’s not even in the loop―guessing _exactly_ why Fury came, though she was kidding. Thank Thor she didn’t ask Peter what he thought of her theory. He couldn’t have lied to her. Besides blurting out the truth, he probably also would’ve revealed how hurt he was by her easy assumptions. He felt like his mom was yanking the web out from under him when she casually told him he’s nothing but a caricature to Michelle, somebody to be scorned and forgotten about. The irony is that Pepper was clearly trying to make Peter feel better about it, to make him laugh at Flash’s email. Instead, she pressed the most sensitive part of him and, like a fresh bruise, it’s aching in the aftermath.

Is that all he’s ever been to Michelle? Peter’s disoriented. He’s devoted serious time to persuading himself that it’s been _him_ these past few months. _Him_ who’s the problem. That _he’s_ the one who needs to come around to Michelle, all the time believing―though he mostly lied to himself―that she might somehow still be considering him. What if she never felt any of that? Maybe her feelings for him dropped sharply off the minute he rejected her in Tribeca. Maybe all of this means way, way less to her than he thought and he’s been constructing these fantasies, soupy daydreams, and putting too much meaning into every time they happen to catch each other’s eye. This must be what a crisis feels like; Peter’s heart is pounding. Can he really not tell the difference between someone who’s in love with him and someone who’s just in the same room? God!

Frustrated, restless, and confused, Peter bolts up from bed and digs through the depths of a desk drawer he never opens. His fingers brush metal and, roughly, he secures his web-shooters around his wrists. With light, swift steps, he heads for the front door. On the way, he tells FRIDAY not to wake anybody up with alerts. The rest of his family doesn’t need to freak out just because he is.

Peter scales the compound with his hands and feet. Though the web-shooters clang against the side of the building as he climbs, the loose sleeves of his sweatshirt sliding up, he doesn’t resort to using them. He can do this. He could do it before he ever created his first version of web fluid and he can sure as hell do it now. They’re an accessory, like the suit. With those things stripped away, Peter knows himself better. He’s confident in his movements and the belief that one of his hands would be enough to prevent a deadly fall. Though his fingers are straining. Though the compound’s slick with moisture from the fog. He doesn’t give a fuck. He climbs above it, up and out of the damp, until he’s hauling himself onto the roof, taking loud, heaving breaths as he looks around at the darkness. Not total darkness; Peter lets his head hang back and takes in the stars overhead.

“I LOVE HER!” he yells, straight up.

The universe doesn’t give him anything back, no cosmic echo or winking constellation or prophetic comet. After a minute, he huffs and looks back down, hands on his hips. Well.

It’s simple, when he accepts that there’s no answer waiting for him up here, to spend a couple hours at the peak of the highest elevation around. The chill isn’t enough to bother him. Peter wanders the roof and discovers a forgotten Frisbee. It’s been missing so long that he can’t remember who threw it this high or when. With a flick, he sends it sailing over the yard. It glides to the grass in the dark, but his sight is powerful enough to see it. Maybe Morgan will find it and play with Happy the dog the next time their aunt and uncle visit. Maybe their parents should just get _her_ a dog. She could name it Harley, to piss off their brother. She’d like that. Nice, normal childhood thing. Peter sits at the edge of the roof and looks up again. Space is so big. It’s wild, he thinks, how it kinda seems close from here, though the stars are obviously tiny, but when he was up there, home felt very far away. It’s all perspective.

He can see well in the dark and judge precisely when the darkness begins to fade. Could be that subtle lightening along the horizon that wakes Peter from the deep doze of his thoughts, or his Spidey sense, or only a feeling he can’t classify as either human or enhanced. The moon’s still high as his eyes follow the road, disjointed in the fog that’s waiting for the sun to evaporate, and fix on a shape. Dark on dark, just a shadow moving across the shaded landscape. On alert, Peter stands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter's a long one, as they deserve.


	31. Peter and MJ

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "After a short pause, her companion added: ‘You are too generous to trifle with me. If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes are unchanged; but one word from you will silence me on this subject for ever.’" - _Pride and Prejudice_

When he can make out the shape in the dark, when he can tell it’s her, what else can Peter do but understand _why_ there was nothing waiting up here for him? He was the one waiting. Now, he’s grateful for his web-shooters because they mean he can leap off the edge of the building and lower himself with webs instead of climbing down. And he barely has to take his eyes off the increasingly clear person-shape approaching from the east. The world’s a washed-out blue at the edges now, the sun readying to rise at the figure’s back. There’s a skip to Peter’s steps as he runs across the lawn. He doesn’t care that his gait’s transparently eager. There isn’t anything else she’d want to get to walking in this direction; she has to be heading for the compound. She’s coming to him.

The fog is thinning, but the air’s still soaking wet. His skin’s wet, his sweatshirt, his hair. Michelle’s wearing her raincoat. He wants to say that was smart, but the only sound he’s making is a series of shuffling crunches as he steps from the lawn onto the gravel side road, walking to meet her. She sees him and recognizing that she doesn’t seem surprised is the first thing that makes Peter realize he isn’t surprised to see her either.

He also thinks, for a minute, that they’ll race into each other’s arms. That would’ve been cool, but he’s more than happy with the smile she gives him, gaze darting down to the road and back to his face, as they stop a few feet apart. They’re in an open pocket of the slowly billowing fog. Michelle pushes her hood back and there’s just enough light at the seam of the sky now to make her damp hair glisten.

“Thanks,” bursts out of his mouth.

“For what?”

 _Yeah, you idiot, for what?_ Peter thinks. His brain stutters to complete the track his train of thought was traveling along.

“Finding Harley. He knows he wasn’t supposed to say anything about you being in Providence, but he did, and then May told me what Happy told _her_ , so yeah, I know you were there,” he says, all in a rush. “And that’s fine with me if you want to keep it quiet―I didn’t tell anyone else―but I wanted you to know that I knew and, and that I think you deserve the credit for doing all that. You didn’t have to.”

She looks upset and he feels _terrible_.

“I didn’t want you to know because I didn’t want you to think I was interfering,” Michelle explains. The sleeve of her raincoat swishes briskly against her side as she struggles to keep her gestures contained. “Like I was trying to fix your family or something.”

Peter laughs.

“We need it sometimes. Harley wouldn’t have come out of that situation very well on his own, and I’m sure he didn’t do much to thank you for saving his ass.”

Michelle mumbles something and, yes, he can hear it, but he stares at her face so long that she must think he missed it and repeats herself.

“It wasn’t for him.” He’s about to play dumb because he’s that greedy for the words she’s so close to saying, but he doesn’t have to. Michelle adds, “I only did it for you. You were really upset in Burlington, when you heard your brother was missing. I wanted to find him so you wouldn’t worry.”

God, he’s giving her a really sappy smile, he can feel it. He watches her take a quick breath.

“I’m probably overstepping,” she continues hurriedly, briefly closing her eyes as she shakes her head, “because you told me how you feel months ago, and maybe I’m just seeing what I want to see...” Michelle opens her eyes. “If...” She glances down, back up to his eyes as he’s beginning to squint with the bright horizon warming from blue to orange. “...if that’s not how you feel, anymore... if you feel something else, something better... hopefully not something worse...”

“What?” he asks, grinning and confused, but also mostly understanding.

“Ok,” Michelle says first. That part’s obviously meant for herself. She comes half a step closer. “I’m still in love with you. I never stopped.” Her gaze moves rapidly, nervously around his face. “If you want, I can never say that again, but I had to tell you the truth because I’m just really bad at not―”

“I don’t want you to never say it again.”

“You don’t?”

“No.” Peter frowns. Did he get mixed up? It doesn’t seem right for this to end on a ‘no.’ “Yes,” he corrects emphatically. “ _Do_ say it.”

She exhales a laugh.

“Why are you so confusing?

“You started it,” he counters. And because her wet raincoat is shining and she’s holding all her anxiety in her slim wrists and twisting fingers and staring at him like she brought this as far as she could without him, Peter strides up to Michelle and kisses her. When she trembles against him, gripping his sweatshirt with her eyes still closed, he kisses her again. “MJ,” he whispers impulsively against her lips as they break apart. Her mouth returns firmly to his at that and he’d laugh if he had any breath to spare.

It takes her pressing a hand to his chest and him holding her shoulders at arm’s length to actually keep them apart now that they’ve opened that dam. But they won’t let go of each other. MJ laughs with her bottom lip between her teeth and he likes that. He... he loves that.

“I’m in love with you too,” Peter finally remembers to say. “Just so you... realize that.”

“Really? I thought that was a rejection kiss.”

“ _Now_? Now, you’re gonna mess with me?”

“Don’t tell me you don’t like me messing with you,” MJ warns with a smirk. “We’re in way too deep for that now.”

Her expression shifts to surprise, as if those last words slipped out by accident. She’s right, Peter thinks, if she’s reacting like that because it should be too early for depth of any kind. The first kiss is where they’re supposed to wade into this, not even up to their knees. They’ve been apart more than together, silent far more often than they’ve spoken, mistaken and reckless with each other’s feelings because they were convinced they’d figured each other out before they even understood themselves.

She starts to remove her hand from his chest and he pulls it back, making her laugh lightly.

“Yeah,” Peter says with certainty, “I guess we are.”

“I…” MJ looks at him like she doesn’t know what else to say, then cups his face in her palms and dives in for another kiss. She shrugs as she draws back, a slight jump of her shoulders as his pulse pounds.

He’s equally speechless, just smiling at her, clutching the waxy shoulders of her raincoat. Her body language tenses and softens and Peter tows her cautiously into a hug. He isn’t scared of her saying no here. It’s more like he’s bracing himself for the hug to somehow go uncompleted. Like their chests will never collide or his arms will pass through air when he tries to close them around her and he’ll be out here, hugging himself in the middle of the road at dawn. Probably, he could survive that. His insides might ache with the emptiness of the sensation right before a good cry. What he feels when his arms _do_ wrap around her comes with a similar swooping feeling, but he’s suddenly full, not empty. MJ throws her arms around his neck to press them tighter with no hesitation at all and Peter’s almost tearing up as he rocks her against him, both hands flat on her back. She smells like the open fields she walked past to get here and the close air of the cozy living room on the Park’s upper story.

“Can I drive you home?” he asks quietly, eyes shut against the ball of the sun easing into the visible sky. He doesn’t want her to go, but it’s wet out here and he doesn’t want her to get sick, or for Wanda to wonder where she is. Although, he guesses she won’t be missed yet. It can’t be long after 6am.

“You can walk me,” MJ suggests. She tips back from him and angles her head when she sees the sun is in his eyes, blocking it so he can focus on her face. “That’ll take longer.”

His cheek’s wet from resting against her hair, his palms are clammy from her coat, and when he takes her hand, they could be leaving a pool, dry clothes sticking to damp skin. He can’t stop smiling. They dart glances at each other that are far from furtive as the sun clears their path of fog and their shadows spill out long behind them. Peter learns that MJ likes to walk with their fingers interlocked. Maybe she’s always liked that, or maybe it’s just with him. There are a lot of things he’ll be able to quit speculating about and actually learn. She’s slightly taller, but walks a little slower, so the pace is perfect. He ends up just staring at her face for a solid five minutes because he knows his senses won’t let him trip. He’s so in tune with everything now, it’s amazing.

“Just to be totally transparent about what happened in Providence…” MJ begins suddenly, curing his curiosity over her suddenly thoughtful expression. “I get that you know most of it, but you don’t know all of it. Unless Liz told you.”

“You know, Liz and I really aren’t that close anymore,” he jokes lightly and catches her quick smirk before she goes back to serious.

“Well, I… had a talk with her.”

“I’m really sorry you had to do that.”

MJ sighs.

“I mean, I wouldn’t have reconciled with her if that situation hadn’t made it necessary, but I think it was probably time. It felt that way, after.”

“That’s what you did?” Peter asks, shocked. “You guys made up?”

He halts and she stops with him, letting their hands dangle between them.

“It was ugly at first. Not, like, overtly ugly, but the atmosphere was pretty accusatory. Your brother didn’t stay to mediate.”

Peter can tell the comment about Harley is sarcastic and he gives MJ an appropriately _I’m not surprised_ face.

“We didn’t retread old ground,” she continues. “It’s still raw. What she did. With a little distance, I can tell that it was never Liz taking the money that hurt me. It was coming back after the Second Snap and feeling like she’d disrespected my parents and betrayed me. It felt like my _sister_ did that when what I needed was her protection.”

From where he stands and the connection of their hands, he feels how tender this wound is. But MJ stands straight, doesn’t cry, golden light on half her face as her unfocused gaze rests over his heart.

“My aunt, Maria―Carol’s wife, stepped in. She came up from Louisiana to help me sort through everything I had to do with my parents gone, lived with me until I moved into residence for college. Monica couldn’t be away from work long and Carol was off-planet. Way, _way_ off-planet. But I had somebody, you know? I had Aunt Maria, but knowing that Liz was still out there and I couldn’t be near her because of what she’d done…” MJ looks up and right into Peter’s eyes. “It was almost as bad as losing my mom and dad.”

“It makes sense that you wouldn’t want to relive all that with her the first time you guys were actually in the same room in so long,” he assures her. “Especially with my idiot brother able to walk in at any moment.”

“Also, selfishly, I knew if she tried to apologize and it seemed insincere that it would stop me from doing what I went there to do. I’d be too upset and I’d leave and I wouldn’t have helped you.”

“So what happened?” Peter asks gently.

“I concentrated on you. I told her that I didn’t want her to fuck up another family, that you were good people who didn’t deserve to be taken advantage of. I also said it might be a chance for her to turn things around. Liz said…” MJ huffs a bitter laugh. “She said she didn’t think I cared about whether she did that or not. Can you believe that?”

“It does sound pretty untrue that you would’ve said my family are good people.”

She rolls her eyes at him.

“ _Anyway_ ,” she goes on in a lighter tone, seeming not actually annoyed by his cracking a joke. “I told Liz that I still believe she can be better. Oh, I was honest and let her know that she’s become someone who creates things that make the world worse and that I think it’s been catching up with her and poisoning her too, that when I _have_ thought about her, sometimes, it’s as someone who’s unredeemable, but… I said I’d been wrong about people before.”

MJ offers Peter a shy smile.

“I think it’s human to be,” he says.

“It seemed to get through to Liz, at least. She told me she’d take whatever offer Stark Industries made to her seriously.”

“I think the contract was very fair.”

“I don’t know if I want to see her again.” MJ frowns and Peter instinctively pulls her a little closer by their joined hands. “I’m not sure how to have a relationship with her.”

“Wait and see.”

“Yeah. I guess I should appreciate the person I just gained instead of the one I lost years ago, huh?” She smiles and gives his hand a shake.

“If you wanna appreciate me, I don’t mind. Tell me that thing again,” he urges, grinning.

“Shut up.”

But seconds later, when they’ve resumed walking towards the Park, MJ looks sideways at him and says, “I love you.”

“I love you,” he responds immediately. No teasing with the important stuff. When she puts her emotions out there, Peter wants her to know that he’ll handle them with care. He’s better at that than he was their first go ‘round. “I’ll make sure you’re not wrong about me again.”

MJ glances at him swiftly and it looks like her eyes are starting to well up, but that could be from the sun rising to eye-level.

“Good. I hate being wrong.”

“I’ve picked up on that.”

“Hey, by the way,” she says. “Did you tell my uncle to go fuck himself last night?”

Everything on Peter’s face freezes. Except his eyes, which go wide. Oh _shit_. Better be honest.

“Technically, I told him to get fucked.”

“Oh, well, if that’s all then I have no idea what Fury was so upset about,” MJ says casually.

“He called you?”

“Nope. Apparently, he drove halfway home to New York and was still so mad that he turned around and drove all the way back so he could wake me up and communicate the entire story to my face.” She pauses to yawn. Peter joins her. “He got pretty rant-y. Took me a minute before I could follow.”

“Were you mad at him?”

“Of course. And I was mortified at the beginning when I thought he’d figured out that I’m in love with you. It sounded like that’s what he’d been at the compound telling you.”

“Fury was fairly tactless, but he didn’t do that. If he had, I would’ve seen you several hours sooner instead of sitting on the roof all night thinking about you.”

MJ blushes and tries to get back on track with Peter smiling delightedly at her.

“So that’s how you knew I was coming.”

“I like high places. I can take you up there sometime, if you want.”

“Maybe a more normal date first,” she counters.

“Assuming Fury’s visit didn’t traumatize you out of the desire to ever go on a date.”

“Nah, the unadulterated rage I felt when I realized that he was trying to make my choices for me transitioned well into the desire to, um… yeah, date you.” Now Peter’s blushing. “All Fury did was make me want to be with you more, and sooner, based on how recently he’d spoked to you. The minute he left, I just started walking. I was afraid you’d change your mind. Hearing that you felt the way you seemed to when I read between the lines of what Fury recited of your conversation… I didn’t think I’d ever hear that from you.”

“You got ‘I love you’ between the lines of me telling Fury to get fucked?”

MJ laughs and he decides to hell with the handholding, tucking his arm securely around her waist instead. Their hips bump together.

“You’re kidding, but I did. The fact that you could be that blunt with him but you _hadn’t_ said anything as blunt with regards to you and I never getting together was what sent me out the door. I didn’t have a plan beyond that.”

“Aw, plans are for people who think too much.”

“That seems like a healthy attitude for a guy who made a career out of deliberately putting himself in dangerous situations,” MJ observes sarcastically.

“Hey, I’m good at improvisation. Gotta play to my strengths.” Peter’s shoulders sag abruptly and he sees her look at him with concern. “Actually, I might be too good at doing damage when I just go off the cuff. That night… you said you were in love with me and, the way I talked to you… I was awful.”

“Stop trying to take all the credit. I earned everything you said to me. Well, most of it. Some things you were totally wrong about,” she reminds him. “But I was insensitive and horrible about your family. I just get so obsessed with being _right_ that I hurt people in the process of trying to prove it.”

“We’re better at this so far. Talking to each other without blowing up.”

“That’s because you haven’t said anything stupid yet.”

“Oh, is that what it is?” He laughs lightly.

“Come on, you’re supposed to say something insulting back,” MJ prompts, sending a loose stone rocketing into the ditch with a swinging kick of her sneaker. “That way, I’m reminded that you can be just as much of a dick as I can. I still feel bad about that night too. I remember you saying something about there not existing a universe in which you would’ve agreed to go out with me.”

Peter groans.

“God, I was such an asshole.”

“No, you were right about that, but I only accepted it recently. It wasn’t that I’d asked you, it was what a jerk I was in the process. I would’ve said no to me too. I’m glad you said no.”

“You seemed like you hated everything about me _except_ me so much that you wouldn’t even be disappointed when I didn’t say yes,” he says in a small voice, not wanting to make her feel any worse. “That’s probably part of why I reacted so strongly against it instead of just leaving. I want you to, I don’t know, know I was _there_.”

“Yeah, that was childish,” she teases. “You actually wanted me to speak to you as a person with an opinion worth acknowledging when I just wanted to talk over you and force you to see things my way? Ugh, dream on, Stark.”

“You do really like having the last word. What you wrote though? Your letter? I’m glad you bothered continuing the conversation after I drove you away.”

MJ’s hand twitches in his.

“God, I didn’t even think you would read it. Did you believe what I wrote?”

“It took a few reads,” Peter admits. “I didn’t wanna believe you.”

“I knew I wasn’t in the best position to convince you, after all the shit I’d said the night before. I remember writing it feeling so smug and right.”

“It didn’t read that way. Or, it didn’t read that way once I was open to what you had to say. I thought it was pretty honest. But, like, in a vulnerable way,” he scrambles to clarify. “Not in a mean way.”

“And I found out you were somebody with more backbone than I thought you had. I’d just been thinking about you as this person who’d probably done his best to save the world and then remembered he was the son of a billionaire and thought, ‘Why bother?’ I got past thinking that way about you, at least enough to start having feelings for you, but I was harder on your family than they deserved.”

“It’s ok to be mad, MJ,” Peter offers, squeezing her waist and wanting to hug her. “My family and your family are always going to be connected in the worst way, because us not stopping Thanos soon enough _is_ what killed them. We tried.”

“I know,” she says and slips her arm around him too.

Just two words and they release something inside of him that’s been clenched, small and hard, since the Battle of Earth. He’s had such a difficult relationship with that day. It weighed on him like a year and passed like a second, everything around him the glow of weapon fire and the splatter of blood, the crack of shields colliding with skulls and bare fists with ribs (if those beings Thanos used as an army even had ribs). A living nightmare. Peter might have been on the winning side, but everything else about that fight felt wrong. He became a killer and he thought afterwards how it wasn’t the first time, how billions had died (many, many more if you counted the rest of the universe) because he didn’t get the gauntlet off the hand when he had the chance, even though his whole world had narrowed to those two things. Gauntlet. Hand. It’s been enough just getting that shit to leave his mind so he can sleep, function, be normal around his family. While he talked to somebody, a therapist, for a while, it was his dad who understood best. But talking through his feelings and coping mechanisms with other people, no matter who they were, didn’t feel like this. It’s simple: Peter never expected forgiveness. That’s what MJ’s handing him in a pair of syllables. He’s struggled to comprehend his experiences, to contextualize and compartmentalize where he needs to. Nobody’s ever made it so easy for him though, just taken the load he’s been shrinking over the past six years. Just set that load down at the side of the road and let him keep walking.

“We won’t let that be the only way we’re connected,” MJ says.

With his brain, Peter receives this statement as something comforting. Unfortunately, he’s still an idiot, only now he’s openly an idiot for _her_ , so he makes a weird gasping noise when an articulate response doesn’t come. Crap, now she’s looking at him. And, goddammit, he looks back. So, they’re both blushing. Again. Well, it beats the horrors of war.

“We, um, we have our own history now,” she continues hastily.

“Mhmm. Like… like when I showed up at your cottage,” is what he comes up with, immediately grimacing. “Which was probably the creepiest thing that’s ever happened to you.”

“Please. You know I’ve lived in New York.”

“Well, it’s gotta be up there. Weren’t you angry when you saw me? The second I saw you coming up the hill, I felt like I was someplace I really wasn’t supposed to be.”

“I definitely wasn’t expecting you, but I wasn’t angry. Moron,” she mutters and he laughs softly in relief.

“I honestly thought you were gonna tell me to get the hell off your property,” Peter says.

“Are you kidding? I was just trying to think how I could get you to stay.”

He stares at her. Boy, he’d have a tough time leaving her now. She’s radiant in the dawn light, dreamlike if it weren’t for her hold on him and his on her.

“Yeah, you communicated that really well when you shut that door in my face.”

MJ makes an embarrassed noise and brings her free hand briefly to her forehead, letting her head drop into it as they walk. He smiles at the gesture.

“It might have taken me a minute to get over the surprise of running into you. But seriously, I just wanted to make you like me. Not even _like me_ like me,” she explains, “just think that I was decent. That I could be, anyway, when I wasn’t being super unpleasant about your dad. I wanted you to know that I might have talked a lot, but I heard you too. You know, belatedly.”

“Oh, so at that point your feelings for me were totally platonic,” Peter summarizes, baiting her and grinning about it.

“Totally. Until I shut the aforementioned door in your face and panicked over the realization that the next thing I wanted to do was go back outside and push you against the nearest tree.”

“You wanted to beat me up?!”

“To make out with you,” she mumbles with her head turned away from him.

He’s tempted to comment, but the Park’s in view and he doesn’t want to leave her embarrassed and himself flustered. He decides to ask about her friend instead and nudges his chin towards the building they’re nearing.

“Is Wanda good?”

MJ glances at him with her eyebrows raised.

“You should know better than I do. Isn’t she always at the compound?”

“Yeah, pretty much. Her and Vision are kinda inseparable.”

“That’s cute. They deserve it.”

“Did you see it coming?” he wonders, watching her profile.

“I think everybody did.”

“Maybe originally, back in the fall, but I wanna know if you knew it would happen when Wanda came back to the Park.”

“I… had a feeling,” she concedes with a slight smirk.

“Meaning you told Wanda to go for it.”

“No, I didn’t _tell_ her what to do. _Someone_ said I was too controlling with my friends.” MJ gives him a knowing side-eye. “But I did encourage her to come back because I thought it would make her happy.”

“That’s all it took?”

“ _And_ I told Wanda I’d had the wrong idea before, when I thought Vision didn’t care about her. I apologized for convincing her to leave him. I said I was sure that I had it totally backwards and that she better go get her man.”

Peter’s thrilled not to hear her call his brother a robot.

“So you convinced Wanda, but who convinced you? Me or Vision?”

“Are you just fishing for credit?” He shrugs and she rolls her eyes as she answers. “I watched him when Wanda and I went over to the compound the other day because of what you said, but it was how Vision acted that convinced me. Just taking someone’s word for it about someone else’s feelings is how those two split up in the first place.”

“Good point.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m glad you told Wanda. And that she listens to you. It means everything to Vision, so it means a lot to me too.”

“I even told her I knew about Vision being in Queens,” MJ confesses. “It’s the maddest Wanda’s ever been at me, but it was worth it. Not that she’s mad anymore. She’s too busy being in love.”

“I know the feeling,” he says.

They’re naturally slowing down as they walk up the driveway, hands sliding across each other’s backs to clasp loosely again, just these last few meters. Sunlight glances off the windows and the roof of the parked car, but they step inside the shade of the alcove the front door is set into. Peter glances at the door, then back to MJ’s face. She looks nervous, expectant, poised to speak. All at once.

“Do you wanna―”

“Make out?” she finishes for him.

Peter beams at the way his girlfriend gets straight to the point. The sun warmed the front of his sweatshirt as they walked and he holds MJ’s hand there, over his heart, when she presses him against the brick wall and kisses him like this is a ritual, what they’ve always done and will always do. He should be so lucky.

* * *

Jogging home, he feels like a happy zombie―no sleep all night and then the best morning of his life. He can’t tamp it down. The sun’s been more of a complementary backdrop to his feelings than a way to tell the time, so he doesn’t realize it’s past 7:30am and walks through the kitchen to find his family eating breakfast together. They stare at him. He stares back.

“Where the hell were you?” his dad asks with an expression of amusement. “I figured you were just sleeping in. Were you _outside_? You look... windblown.”

“There’s no wind,” Peter says with a shrug. He sits down and grabs a piece of toast.

His dad keeps giving him a funny look and tries to get Morgan to speculate with him about what her brother’s been up to, but she’s grouchy, anticipating a session with her math tutor, and won’t be coaxed into giving anything but the soggy Froot Loops in her bowl her full attention.

Later that morning, after the tutoring and before lunch, Peter remembers the Frisbee and uses the hunt for where it landed as an excuse to get his siblings outside. He watches Nebula pretend she hasn’t found it, intentionally leaving the discovery to Morgan. Vision seems tolerant of the exercise, but when Peter starts walking at his side as they ‘look for the Frisbee,’ he doesn’t appear surprised. Still, it’s obvious that he isn’t expecting it when Peter starts with, “So, I was with MJ this morning...” All Vision does between then and when he finishes with explaining that, yeah, he and MJ are together now, is ask, “ _MJ_?” in the same tone Peter used to bug his brother about saying ‘Miss Maximoff’ instead of _Wanda_.

“It is her name,” he says, like the switch is no big deal. “She wasn’t upset when I started calling her that.”

“But... you are serious?” Vision checks. “Yourself and Miss Jones?”

“I think I got a hickey around here someplace if you don’t believe me,” Peter says, pulling at the neck of his sweatshirt and looking down, though it’s impossible to see his own neck.

“That’s quite alright,” his brother laughs. “I don’t require evidence.”

“You’re still looking at me like you don’t believe me.”

Vision’s mouth opens and no words come out. He makes an uncertain gesture with his hands.

“No, man! Come on!” Peter insists, grabbing his brother’s forearm. “You’re the one who’s supposed to believe me right away.”

“That you’re in love with her.” Peter nods. “And she with you?”

“Yes! I swear!”

“It’s only that... you’ve never particularly cared for her.” Vision studies his face.

“That was way back when I was being an idiot. More of an idiot,” he amends. “But I’ve loved her for ages. Really. Definitely since I saw her again in Vermont.”

After several more seconds of carefully observing his face, his brother smiles.

“I believe you.”

Peter exhales in relief.

“ _Good_.”

“It does make me extremely curious about Vermont though. You can’t have been telling me everything when we corresponded. There was certainly no mention of falling in love.”

So Peter unravels it, a lot of it out of order. He explains that he was cautious about what he was telling Vision because he didn’t want to upset him by mentioning that Wanda was there. In between, he elaborates on the way his feelings for MJ developed. It’s way easier to see it now than it was when it was happening. Peter’s realizing and talking at the same time, picking out all the tiny moments that now seem so crucial, all the things that made him miserable to leave her and that, for MJ, were enough to get her to follow him, driving down to Providence to help Harley. Vision’s expression grows solemn as Peter stumbles into that part of the story, how MJ saved all of their butts, but then Vision just marvels at the lengths she went to for their family. He genuinely, thoroughly praises her and Peter stands there absorbing it with a huge smile. After, he goes up to his room and crashes, sleeping until late afternoon.

He wakes up feeling like a little kid and can’t explain the sensation. Slowly, he recognizes that it comes from his parent’s hushed voices as they stand outside his room. The sound of people he loves speaking nearby. Peter rolls over and listens. They’re talking about _him_. He picks up that his dad _did_ rewatch that footage of him and Fury talking outside last night, eavesdropping after the fact. Though Tony seems to find it hilarious that Peter reacted so aggressively to their unwelcome visitor, he seems worried over the rest of it. Michelle Jones? Secret relationship? This is not the kid he knows. Pepper’s soothing him, clearly there to stop her husband from busting into Peter’s room and demanding an immediate answer to assuage his own curiosity. Peter hears her tell him that Vision said something to her earlier, implied something about where their son was that morning. Though his mom’s less hard-charging about it, she’s also confused. Peter groans, shifts, stretches. He gets out of bed and opens the door, rubbing a knuckle into his eye.

“Hey, guys.”

“We didn’t mean to wake you,” his mom says, shooting an accusing glance at Tony, who shrugs from his chair. “Vision said you had a late night.”

“Or an early morning. Something like that.” He feels rested, but he yawns.

“Well, we just―”

“Set us straight on something,” his dad implores. That earns him another sour look for cutting across his wife. “What’s the deal with you and Michelle Jones?”

“Not much,” Peter says, crossing his arms and leaning into the doorframe. “I’m just in love with her.”

“Peter... what?” his mom asks.

Meanwhile, Tony cracks up, laughing loudly and steadily. Peter thinks he’s being made fun of until he considers the specific sparkle in his dad’s eye. This is his dad getting it. He knows what it’s like to feel everything change from one minute to the next at the sight of a beautiful woman in a backless gown―or a squeaky raincoat, as the case may be.

“Well,” his dad says. “That’s that.”

“That’s that?” Pepper repeats, incredulous. She looks from her husband to her son.

“Don’t you trust our kid?”

“Of _course_ I trust him.”

“Standing right here,” Peter reminds them.

“Then look at him!” Tony urges.

“Would somebody explain this to me in words?” his mom requests.

“He loves her,” his dad says, “and judging by the unusually confident exterior of the young man we see before us, I’d say she loves him back.”

“I didn’t think Michelle was very friendly to either of you.”

“Oh, I’d say she’s feeling plenty friendly to Pete now. Check out that neck.”

With an embarrassed laugh, Peter jerks his sweatshirt up to cover where his dad’s pointing.

“Ok,” his mom says firmly, like she’s putting to one side the bizarre reality of her son sneaking out early to neck some neighbour who hates them. “This makes less sense to me than Harley and Liz. She drove him to distraction. I didn’t think you and Michelle even really got along, or that she was a big fan of us. ‘Daddy’s money’?”

Before his mom can remember anything else any of them might have passed on to her about MJ, anything critical from the benefit or the open house or Peter’s time cooped up with her at the Park, he gives her the best proof available that MJ _does_ care. He tells Pepper how she traced Harley and Liz. She looks taken aback, then her expression softens and she nods, seemingly to herself.

“I thought there was something Happy wasn’t telling me.”

“Never trust a Hogan,” Tony offers playfully.

“Oh my god, Peter,” his mom gasps. “Flash’s email.”

“He was mostly wrong,” Peter quickly assures her. “MJ and I weren’t... we were never... there was no, uh, relationship until today. This morning.”

“At least he hasn’t been lying to us,” Pepper says to her husband, relaxing her shoulders. Peter smiles.

“It’s healthy to date a woman who’s at least a little scornful of you and everything you stand for,” his dad jokes.

“Cool,” Peter tells his parents, glancing warily between them. “Well, you guys work that out. I’m gonna go take a shower.”

He gets out to find a text from MJ on his phone, inviting him over. Vision’s heading to the Park as well, to steal a moment with Wanda at the restaurant between prep and service, so the two of them drive there together.

“This is nice!” Peter says, raising his voice over the stream of air rushing past his head through the open window, his hair blowing sideways.

“It is!” Vision agrees from the passenger’s seat. The two of them smile like idiots the rest of the way.

* * *

_Vermont, 3 months later_

“I’ll go find her,” Peter tells Ned and Betty. “You know how she gets when she’s working. She loses track of time.”

Betty smiles in understanding.

“No rush,” Ned says as Peter slips out of the room. “You know, take your time.”

Peter nods, trying not to laugh. This is only day three of the week of holidays his best friend took from work to come up and visit and he’s already pretty taken with MJ’s blonde neighbour. He has a feeling they’ll be hosting Ned again soon, or cat-sitting for Betty if she decides she needs to see Tribeca for herself after everything Ned’s described. Peter doesn’t think she’ll have trouble finding a place to stay while she’s there.

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he pauses in the hallway to check. It’s May, confirming that she and both Happys will be coming up for the Labor Day long weekend. Peter replies, promising evenings playing cards on the deck if the weather remains warm or a bonfire on the beach if temperatures drop. He knows it doesn’t matter to his aunt; she just wants to see him in his new habitat. He’s excited to show her how much this place suits him. Vermont, the cottage, MJ. The two of them recently bought an apartment in Manhattan too, which MJ affectionately and jokingly named ‘Daddy’s Money’. Peter’s been so comfortable here, retuning his senses and finding this incredible feeling of freedom inside himself, that he’s ready to start splitting his time between the cottage and the city. They’re planning to be in the new apartment by the end of September. For the first time in years, autumn in New York will mean changing leaves in Central Park and the red blur of their part-time Spider-Man swinging between skyscrapers. Peter thinks he can do it. He’s going to try.

He doesn’t need lights as he walks through the house, past the bedroom he’s been sharing with MJ for the last month and a half. She’s worried that what he’s told her about feeling at home here already isn’t solid, isn’t permanent, that he’ll change his mind when winter hits, start to feel too isolated. But Peter trusts the feeling. It isn’t just the cottage.

The sound of Betty and Ned talking animatedly grows fainter as Peter climbs the stairs. He makes his steps loud enough that he won’t startle MJ when he enters her studio. She’s jumped more than once, but always been able to fix the jerky stroke of her brush as it skated away across the canvas. Tonight, she seems relaxed with her shoulders down and her legs wound through the rungs of the stool she sits on, though she doesn’t look up when he comes in. Peter watches his girlfriend with a smile and weaves his practiced way around the supplies strewn over the floor to stand behind her.

“How’s it coming?”

MJ makes a noise that could mean good or bad.

“You’ve kinda lost your light,” he points out, looking at the night through the window, then up at the yellow overhead light he knows she hates, though she refuses to replace or even get a different bulb for it. He’s accepted it as something that makes her home her home.

She glances up and lowers her brush, giving Peter an unobstructed view of his own face on her canvas.

“I guess I have,” MJ agrees. “Pass me that jar?”

He hands her the former pickle jar, now crusted with a dissonance of dried paint streaks, but filled with clean water. He watches as she swirls the brush and red blooms from it, then pulls it out and flicks it quickly back and forth across a bar of soap before working the bristles with her fingers, dunking it into the water, and leaving it out to air dry. This is her third portrait of him since he moved in. They observe it together, Peter’s hands clasped with his arms wrapped securely around her waist.

“May confirmed,” he mumbles, then kisses MJ’s neck.

It snaps her out of obsessing over the painting again. She twists slightly in his arms and starts to raise her hands to touch his face and shoulder before lowering them, remembering she’ll need to check for rogue smears of paint first. Really, MJ should wash her arms up to her elbows, but Peter laughs as she just wipes them on her overalls instead. She touches him, takes hold, and he leans into her, pressing his cheek to hers.

“Monica’s figuring out what time she’ll have off in December. She wants to come up and teach you how to ski,” MJ informs him.

“Oh god.”

But she says, “You’ll be fine. You’re supernaturally well-coordinated.”

“Hand-eye, maybe, not foot-eye! I can’t go down a mountain with skis on my feet!”

“Just a little mountain,” MJ says slyly.

He loosens his arms to let her spin around on the stool to face him. Hers cross behind his neck.

“It’d be a disaster,” Peter assures her, but it’s no good. She’s prepared to negotiate, drawing him down for a kiss. “How little?” he sighs.

“So little. Practically a hill.”

He makes a noise of consideration against her mouth. He remembers Betty and Ned.

“You know our guests are downstairs waiting for us,” he reminds her.

“Ned’s here for _your_ birthday,” MJ counters, kissing him again. It’s true. That’s in a couple of days.

“Well, if you’re gonna make me be the responsible one...”

Peter hauls her up to standing and marches her to the bathroom in front of him, his hands on her hips, so she can clean up. On the way to the living room, she stops at the bedroom to change, leaving her painting clothes in a pile on the floor. He looks at them fondly.

“’Sup?” MJ asks when they walk in together. Ned waves happily towards the TV screen in explanation.

“Mmf!” Betty says, swallowing a sip of her drink and responding excitedly. “Go, MJ! It’s your turn!”

“What song do you want?” Ned presses, at the ready and just as bad as Betty.

MJ looks at Peter as she decides, then walks over and picks the one she wants. _Just Dance_ starts counting her in on “Holding Out for a Hero.” Peter, grinning, goes to sit on the couch next to Betty, but his girlfriend catches his hand.

“Come on,” she says. “Do it with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I'll let Dario Marianelli play us out.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Uo1C1A4jds)


End file.
